


Daddy

by blueberry01120



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Parenting, Boypussy, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dubious Consent, Incest, Knotting, M/M, Muscles, Parent/Child Incest, Underage Sex, pseudo-incest?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 02:13:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16735089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueberry01120/pseuds/blueberry01120
Summary: "Deadbeat dadhood must’ve been a vat of nuclear waste poured all over his natural instincts’ control panel because if his mind uses the opportunity of Thor being so uninterested in talking to Loki to swoon over how the clouds turn his eyes a slate gray that Loki wants to rain down on him then some wires are fucking crossed."Teenage Omega Angst-monger Loki hates his dad — his real dad, not his birth-certificate dad Laufey — Alpha God Thor, and the thing is, that despite him deciding to suddenly take custody of Loki, he's positively sure his "dad" hates him too. Too bad hate doesn't stop him having hots for the man. Which is totally not going to be a problem.





	Daddy

**Author's Note:**

> This has been an ongoing work that spawned from a demented idea and has become a band-aid for my boredom.   
> Eh, was already going to hell.

# Part I

Loki’s learned the word disinterest in his dad’s eyes.

No, he’s never expected the Atticus Finch-Scout parent-child relationship from the guy who counts dropping in for every tenth—if that—piano recital/academic decathlon/fencing match as fulfilling his half of the 51/49 custody—when he very clearly has the time to spend all his waking hours turning his body into a shrine for muscle worship.

But excuse Loki for taking it a little personally that the man who contributed 50% of his existence — allegedly, but that’s beside the point—cares more about maintaining those heaping hunks straining against his clothes than taking part in his own son’s development as a human being. It’s not like that’s the bare minimum of fatherhood or anything, not that his dad’s ever been interested in embracing that — fatherhood.

Unlike Loki’s mom, he wasn’t one of those people who turned the shittiness of an oopsie baby into gold. Loki used to think it was a teenage father thing, that because Dad was a few years ahead of the average for first-time parenthood, which by the way was 25 when Loki was born, his angst over the whole thing would last a longer part of Loki’s childhood. Instead of realizing _hey, this parenting shit isn’t so bad_ when Loki’s five, Loki would be 15.

Loki’s 15, and Dad — Thor, because honestly, does he even deserve that title — polishes up Loki’s memory of what pure concentrated disinterest looks like, you know, just in case he forgot since the infamous wedding reception. Where Thor’s hatred of Mom superseded his disinterest in being a dad. Now, here Loki is, in London instead of Athens with Mom and her new and unimproved husband because Thor wants to be the one reminding Loki just how nonexistent his love for him is instead of Thanos.

Which no, Loki’s not complaining about. Fuck no. Thanos drains all of the life out of the room and asks Loki invasive questions like he’s interviewing for him the position of serial killer side-kick when Thor, he just takes up far too much space then fills what rest is left with fresh driftwood and the hue of obnoxious sunshine more suited for an afternoon in the middle of the summer somewhere not London, and he doesn’t ask Loki a single question. Well, other than the atonal, “How was your flight?” and “Figured out what you want to order?” which are de-awkward-ification agents more than they are sincere questions, as in words that seek an answer because Thor so clearly is at a loss for fucks to give in regards to those from Loki.

Loki’s simultaneously miffed at the blinding sliver of toothpaste commercial smile and thank you the pretty waitress gets and the plate of food he told Thor he isn’t hungry for she sets down in front of him. He says thank you anyway, mostly because Thor glances at him like he expects him not to and Loki refuses to be predictable. That in mind, he picks up his fork, but after one or two bites of salad that might as well be leaves doused in acid, no thank you, he practices stabbing as much salad onto his fork as possible.

Thor eats enough for both of them anyway. “You should eat. You’re already skinny.”

Everyone is skinny compared to Hercules over there. 

But Loki’s skinny _and_ tall now. That’s creepy middle-aged men stopping him in the street to ask if he’s interested in one-on-one photoshoots back at their flats levels of appealing. Not 6 foot fuck you like Thor but he only has to tilt his head back a little to make eye contact when they’re toe to toe, only has to look up a little to make it sitting down like now.

Is Thor proud of that, his one obvious contribution to Loki since he sure as hell didn’t gift him the blond hair, the blue eyes, or the not ‘skin cancer 100% guaranteed’ skin? Probably not.

“It’s not like I’m anorexic.”

“Did I say you were?”

“That’s usually the implication when someone is telling me I’m ‘too skinny,’” Loki says. “Or that I’m uncomfortably close to their deep dark dom/sub twink fantasy.”

The ‘what the hell’ instinct stops Thor mid-chew. Because he couldn’t have heard that right, right? Who would be crazy enough to say that out loud? This, Thor staring at him like he’s expecting a grin and a “just kidding,” is normal for the first few prolonged exposures to Loki, but Thor’s his fucking dad, which he’s been for 15 years now. Thanos doesn’t even react beyond the soul-seeking stares these days.

Loki pointedly takes a bite of his food while he has Thor’s full attention. “I’m full,” he says and pushes away the pile of traumatized leaves. Should’ve never got it for him. He did say he wasn’t hungry. “Do you mind if I—?”

“Knock yourself out.” Thor doesn’t only metaphorically mean that. “I don’t need to tell you to not go too far, do I?”

Loki pauses behind his chair, iPod in hand, and replies, “I’m 15, not 5. But you knew that, right?”

Thor will eventually get Loki’s sense of humor. Out of pure necessity.

He ditches Thor to regret the past 15 years of his own life at the table to spectate the drizzle outside, and shuffle unearths a non-single gem from Britney, “Mmm Papi” that sings to his pop-garbage-made soul in more ways than one, the inside joke he needs to lighten the slow-creeping dread during his casual check-up on Thor through the window, Thor too busy entertaining the diligent waitress to notice, because, well—and this is all Thor’s fault, entirely; if he’d just been there…—Thor is fucking sex itself.

## <3

Deadbeat dadhood must’ve been a vat of nuclear waste poured all over his natural instincts’ control panel because if his mind uses the opportunity of Thor being so uninterested in talking to Loki to swoon over how the clouds turn his eyes a slate gray that Loki wants to rain down on him then some wires are fucking crossed.

Thor isn’t paying nearly enough attention to pick-up on Loki’s appreciation of Thor’s jeans’ grasp on his ass cheeks when he bends over to get Loki’s luggage out of the boot. Loki could be nonexistent as far as Thor cares. Ha, _cares_ , Thor, and Loki being in the same sentence without “doesn’t” separating them.

Curves to the Tenth Power getting one whole Friendly Eyebrow Jump after her penguin running out of one of those painfully British black cabs shouting, “I’m here, I’m here,” like the whole street doesn’t know — that stings a bit. It’s less of the sardonic reminder of how low on Thor’s list of emotional priorities he is because he’s over it at this point, and more of — again, it’s all screwy up there — a call for a few second baited-breath of _‘will he (check out her tits) or won’t he_. _’_ Relieved exhale. He doesn’t. Why would he? That orange beanie is a signpost for “ _quirky”_ and oh, she’s Thor’s assistant, Thor’s assistant Darcy.

He takes back the quirky thing. It’s more like _“this is ironically unironic_ ,” which Loki can relate to on about a hundred different levels, so who is he to judge?

“You’re so pretty. I need to hug you.” She’s American and beta and both squeezing him around the shoulders while informing his nose her conditioner smells like bubblegum and is strong enough to penetrate wool. Good to know. For when and if he smells bubblegum on Thor.

Loki’s less annoyed by being accosted by a stranger if it means that her closeness to him, because Thor doesn’t mind looking at her and acknowledging her existence, means Thor looking at him. It’s the squinty-eyed aloofness that’s the second most familiar expression on Thor’s face.

“Darcy, might want to give him space to breathe.”

“He’s your kid. Don’t pretend I don’t know his bones are made of titanium too.” Darcy tests that theory out with the hand she keeps wrapped around his upper arm as she directs him toward the front door, telling him, “Your dad’s not really great at showing people things without going off into long tangents about soccer — I mean, football.” This she accompanies with a look over at Thor, who’s got his back turned closing, locking the front door, not that he stays that way, turning toward them, all the while still holding Loki’s luggage like it weighs nothing, and giving her an approving, tight, no-teeth smile.

That’s a new one.

“But like I was saying” — Thor walks past them in a breeze of dark chocolate — “I’ll show you around, because you and me, we’re kindred spirits. I can feel it.”

Loki looks her straight in the eye. They’re blue, not like Thor’s. He can tell that even behind her glasses. She has to be no older than 21, 22. So, she’s closer to his age than Thor’s. She seems reasonable, Loki’s kind of reasonable. Meaning someone with the sense to be sympathetic to the cause of the neglected child and all of those damning consequences of deadbeat dadhood.

“Me too.” 

## <3

Loki’s new room is across the hall from Thor’s.

“You can paint it if you want,” Thor tells him, posed against the doorframe, hands in his jeans for the cherry on top of the aloofness… and obfuscation of Thor’s crotchal topology. “Get some wallpaper. I don’t know. I could help. My weekends are pretty free.”

Loki doesn’t need to turn to bring Thor into focus to etch it, the wince of regret on Thor’s face that he’s undermined all the future “Sorry, have work” alibis for Loki’s futile efforts at the father-son bonding looming above Thor’s head like some storm cloud he’s been outrunning the past 15 years. Loki thanks Thor dryly, the dismissal from pretending to give a shit Thor’s been fishing for. Because it’s easier to blame teenage standoffishness than shoulder the guilt, which with shoulders like that should be a piece of fucking cake, of not being interested in your own son.

Loki can help him with that. Stubborn eye contact and monotone replies to Thor’s soft-balls over the colorful, protein-packed dinner Thor’s shared with him give Thor just cause to open those lips of his only for egg whites and turkey bacon at breakfast. Because “Sleep good?” has to force its way through the side of Thor’s mouth while he inhales his coffee, courtesies of his inner Momma’s Boy. Grandma is after all the major reason Thor acknowledges Loki’s existence whatsoever.

She’d be thrilled to know all her son’s efforts in being a parent have led to a good old episode of Crotch Watching: Thor’s PJ pants edition. Red and gray stripes fuse wrinkles and possible dick prints sadly, so not much progress from the general truth that whatever is down there is big. But on the flipside, Thor’s tee shirt leaves the guns out to fend for themselves against Loki’s invisible groping. Who needs acknowledgment when Thor’s bicep-tricep-man-handling muscles flex into sun-kissed diamonds?

Thor has work today. This means he has to go put on his grown-up uniform and hide away all those muscles to not trigger the ex-nerds’ flashbacks to the uber alphas in school. Loki mourns them laying on his hand as Thor gets naked across the hall, letting the head of his dick have some relief, because knock, knock, that’s Thor, who’s opening the door before any permission’s come from Loki. His hand’s cleared his pants in time for him to play it cool, absolutely invested in what’s on his phone screen — the sales offers in his email, wow — and none whatsoever in respecting Thor.

“Hey. I’m headed out.”

Half-hearted scrolling to go along with his, “Okay.”

Thor’s gray in Loki’s periphery, gray and so obviously annoyed.

Curiosity coaxes Loki over onto his butt and elbows.

Thor’s muscles proudly resist being watered down by some white button down or gray slacks. And all that breathing room Thor’s tailor’s left him. Definitely not for show with how conservative they’ve been with fabric everywhere else. Thor’s pinched — more pinched than usual — eyes are like blue-gray sprinkles on the vibe that Thor, CEO of Sex Enterprises, is mad his balls aren’t on someone’s chin.

Thor says he’ll be back around 7:00. If Loki needs him — get this — he knows Darcy’s number.

Darcy’s number.

When the front door shuts, Loki texts that number: _I forgot to apologize that your boss is such a dick._

_‘What??!? Thor’s a sweetheart,’_ she replies.

Some strangely-spaced replies vaguely referring to Thor’s all-around aloof aura spurs Darcy into showing up at lunch to refresh her new handprints on Loki’s arm bones to drag him into a company car Loki’s entitled to because oh, right, Thor is his dad. Easy to forget that. In the middle of all the Thor apologia (stoic, blah blah blah, neglectful dad, rich kid blues), Thor’s self-anointed defender Darcy accidentally admits that, saying she forgets Thor has a kid. But “you’re around now, and look at you, you’re a lamppost. No forgetting that.”

Won’t stop Thor from trying.

Loki shelves the self-pity act before Darcy gets any ideas of talking to Thor about it, which he can do himself if he pleases, thank you very much. He wants someone on his team, even if that’s by a toe. Darcy takes him to her favorite café she’s been keeping “on the low, so the hipsters can’t ruin it.” That’s a toe.

Loki never ever imagined Thor giving him the grand tour of London, but someone he’s paying substitutes in for the ‘helping Loki get comfortable in a new environment by introducing him to it’ role. Thor screeching — and Loki’s brain can’t even simulate anything less than a grumble out of Thor — over “the cutest bookstore you’re ever going to step foot in” or shooing Loki back against a statue of a guy immortalized riding a horse to take a picture of him with it. When pigs fucking fly. Thor would’ve stayed in the café and told Loki he’ll catch up with him later before wandering off to the nearest fucking nutrition shop or something.

Darcy interrupts him thumbing through a coffee table book on Shakespeare to remind him about dinner. Dinner with Thor. “Thor’s a great cook. Like shockingly good,” she says about the face he makes, completely missing the point. Whatever.

For the sake of Darcy’s job, Loki goes along with her back to the house, back to the cling and clang of silverware as the soundtrack to silence at the dinner table. Loki’s not the most interesting person in the world, no, but Thor would be more enthused watching paint dry than he is — with his stupid fucking sexy forearms out— eating with Loki. “London’s far prettier at night,” Loki tries, decapitating his broccoli. “Not as pretty as Oslo, but it doesn’t hurt my eyes.”

Thor chewing is his jaw showing off how chiseled it is in case the stubble left any doubt. An interesting sort of prickly, that’s what it’s like, rubbing against Loki’s cheek, his temple during those awkward hugs when Loki was much shorter. On the insides of Loki’s thighs… “I agree.”

The insides of Loki’s thighs, the hard edges of… plates, plates and overturned glasses and spoons and forks in his back, because he’s crawled across, and oh, the prickles dragging up his inner thighs, sending these anticipation waves that translate into more tightness and warmth down there, but he’s cold too because of the gusts of air coming from Thor’s—

“…from my office,” Thor’s saying.

Context clues fill in the blanks as Thor talking about the view in his office. Right.   

Loki nods, and his smile has to be strained, but the interest between his legs is a growing problem he can only take care of away from the dinner table in the privacy of his room. He “night”s Thor and locks himself inside to cut his knuckles with his teeth and — Thor’s sliding fingers inside of him, forcing him open to take it, “take it,” he’s saying, god, “take it for daddy,” and Loki is, he’s taking it, taking Thor’s fingers and his tongue, and “daddy, daddy, daddy” — there’s a whine in his head and breathing hot air onto his fingers as he adds some white stripes to the hardwood floor.

His heartbeat’s decaying as the loop of “what the fuck is wrong with me?”s set in.   

Thor’s door slams shut, the echo a thump behind the back of Loki’s head.

This is obviously not going to be a fucking problem at all.  

## <3

Darcy’s tour-guiding ends where Thor needing her to do the job he’s paying her for — the defending his honor from Loki’s snide remarks about it pro bono — begins. Loki has Google maps and common sense. That’s more than enough to continue separating the shops and places worth a shit from the ones that aren’t.

Thor tells him, “London is a lot like Oslo except everything’s in English,” after the shiny new toy factor wears off and Loki’s little adventures get shorter and shorter. He’s right. Loki does not tell him that, “mhm”s disinterestedly actually and races the fantasies to clear his plate. But London’s a city with buildings made out of the same materials, constructed slightly different, full of the same people speaking a different language. They’re less keen on keeping their eyes to themselves here though.

Oh how Loki misses Scandinavian standoffishness. The one godsend of starting school will be less time to be out and about with the old perverts that help themselves to getting close enough to huff his scent and make one-sided small talk. For fucks sake, no, Loki does not need someone old enough to be his grandfather to show him around because despite his RP accent he codes exotic and the pleasing kind of foreign. “My dad’s younger than you, you know,” Loki says to one guy before walking away. Thor’s younger than the majority of the guys — and the one alpha woman — that try their luck at noncing.

If Thor were around, god, they wouldn’t even think about it.

Loki stays in. Like always, he doesn’t tell Thor about his plans for the day because Thor doesn’t ask. He simply teases Loki in the fantasy fodder of the morning — a stormy gray suit, red tie — and tells him he’ll be back for dinner at 7:00. Sir, yes, sir.

Loki’s done some cursory inspecting of drawers in cabinets, shelves he has to get on his tippy-toes for, acquainted himself with what were housewarming gifts and family heirlooms. From Loki’s family too. Those people in the photographs on end tables and shelves are related to him. What use that’s been for him.

Thor’s study is in a back corner on the bottom floor. Opening the door is the first he’s ever actually been in it. Talk about a sucker punch to the chest, that wall of woody musk that’s always on Thor but weakened by the distance they mutually keep from one another. Thor’s room probably smells the same.

Writhing in Thor’s sheets is a rock bottom reserved for a desperation Loki will try his hardest to keep the hell away from.

Plunking himself in Thor’s leather armchair remains in safe, borderline filial territory. The disappearance of the leather into thighs in his mind however not so much. Before his dreams of getting fucked in that chair get out of hand though he gets up to scour the shelves packed with books that up-close prove not to be some finance drivel but literature and Jacques Cousteau’s _The Silent World_ , Carl Sagan books, books that people with taste read.

Look, the Cambridge degrees on the wall would say duh, Thor’s smart, but Thor’s dad’s Scrooge McDuck. Loki wasn’t putting it past some nepotism getting him to where he’s at. But nope.  

Great. Like Thor needed to get sexier.

That in conjunction with the strands of hair that’ve been left out of Thor’s ponytail giving Thor this rugged, working-man-in-need-of-a-deep-tissue-massage — and Loki’s brain’s written the script to sell one to Thor as Thor undresses the forearms in these casual flicks of his fingers on his cufflinks before Loki’s reminded himself, “Um, hello, _dad_ ” — aura are the final straw.

Loki needs some palliative action.

After Thor’s disappearance down to the gym, Loki drops a, “Anyone kno where to party n London tnght:)?” under his dusted-off, artsy-but-incog Twitter profile, and sifting through the hairy chests offering him to “party with me, sweetheart,” one genuine message directs him to another who directs him to another and voila, the address, time — during their usual dinner which should work for Thor — and a warning of “no responsibility for the rozzers getting ya” shines in his inbox.

Loki descends the stairs down into the basement to deliver Thor the good news, which the hallway doubling as a viewing gallery for any worshippers Thor’s muscles warns him will be a glistening, sweaty affair. Nothing Loki can’t overcome repeating dead kittens and maggots and Thanos shirtless that one time, not that that compares at all from the hints of pec in Thor’s cutoff shirt while he bench presses equivalent to, what, five Lokis.

Imagine what he could do to one Loki.

“What can I do for you?” Thor asks as he racks the barbell, not breathless from what the Queens of the Stone Age Thor’s blasting lets Loki hear. He sits up and raises an arm to smear sweat on his forehead, armpit hair this brass that Loki’s sinuses do a sympathy twitch at because it will be spicy. Loki just feels it in his soul.

Thor interprets Loki’s silence as a “teenage thing” and moves on over to a pull-up bar at the tip of Loki’s reach-length if he’s on his tip toes, but Thor, flashing the spicy brass curls under his arms, jumps and when he pulls himself up, oh, his arms ascend into an undiscovered realm of vasculation.

“Um…” The party, right. “There’s a party tonight I’m going to. That means I won’t be there to bother you at dinner. Is that cool or…?”

“Are you asking or telling me?” 

“Well, Mom says you partied all the time, so I assumed you’d be encouraging.”

Thor bares his teeth atop the bar, no doubt all for show. Like this isn’t a warm-up for him. “No.”

“No?”

“No. You heard it right the first time.” Thor drops down onto his trainers, drenching Loki with a gust of Thor Concentrate, the antidote to dry underwear. The indifference of him moving around Loki to go for the Gatorade on the ground by him should not be the cherry on top that it is. “See you at dinner.”

Loki disagrees.

## <3

The single university party Loki’s been to and the weeks of teen drama TV dress him in all black minus the green windbreaker, and he sprits himself once with scent suppressant spray because novelty factor is plan Z, and omega status isn’t need to know for him getting — or giving if it’s worth it — a blow job. Also, less bread crumbs for Thor to follow because Thor will shrug his shoulders and think “I’ll deal with him tomorrow morning” since it involves the least effort on Thor’s end.

_‘Be back_ , _’_ says the note on the inside of his unlocked bedroom door for added vindication to Thor’s decision.

There’re no footsteps on the stairs or front door opening and shutting to interrupt Thor’s post-workout wash down. Loki weighing just hair and some change does pay off sometime. On the tube at night is not one of those times, but Loki pulls his version of the soulless stare to deter the pervert unlucky to not be blond, blue-eyed, tan, alpha, or any other trait Loki’s looking for or any of the others that look his direction.

He flips the switch for the guy manning the door of the house the address’s attached to, one slow look from head to toe and suddenly mention of him “looking a bit young” vanishing. Desperation is not a turn-on for the person that fits Loki’s standards, so Loki adapts more of a casual, ‘you’re welcome for me being here’ air wading in to the EDM that’s tomorrow’s tinnitus and faceless, flailing people.

Is Loki likely one of the youngest people here? Yes. But does that blonde girl with a flannel hanging off her elbows and a messy bun afforded by her being so hot stood against a wall who locks eyes with him know that?

Well, Loki’s going to make sure she doesn’t, one internal pep-talk induced smirk at a time. “Could I dance against the wall with you?” he asks, and yes, she’s saying, grinning while she does, a darkness in her eyes — they’re blue of course; the garden variety blue but blue —giving away that her alpha instincts are on to him. He plays the beta well though, doesn’t turn his body in to counteract the height advantage he has on her, not even when she uses a laugh to gently squeeze his arm, translated from alpha: “I’m considering you.” Loki’d like to think he’s considering her if anything, most definitely not here to prowl for alphas when he’s got —

Loki stops grinding his teeth. He follows her outside into an open air courtyard, and fresh air, it’s great stuff.

She asks if he’s seeing someone, serious like she’s been — and she was — timing when she’d ask to not scare him off. Loki’s witnessed that tactic across all presentations. She says she’s only asking because he smells like he’s “someone’s already.”

This is news to him. “Do I, really?”

The turning of a bunch of heads around them in his direction but not at him seem like good reason for him to also turn his head, being the 15 year old at a not-so-legal party.

Is that Thor?

His spine electrifying upon inhale says, yes. Along with the fact that Thor is staring right at him.

Shit.

Loki can obviously explain, but his tongue has stuck itself to the roof of his mouth at how much bigger Thor is than everyone, how much — stronger definitely too. Loki’s indefinitely ceded control of not only his arm but his body to Thor, and he would’ve appreciated being asked first. Couldn’t get a “Come on” to warn him of the dragging? He doesn’t trip in front of all the curious eyes — and Loki can’t imagine what they’re assuming, a ginormous blond man in sweats tugging along some Parisian-type pretty boy; or how about that girl? — no thanks to Thor.

“Telling me ‘we’re going home’ might’ve sufficed,” Loki tells Thor when there’s no music to shout over, just the basic city sounds. “Why are you here anyway? Isn’t sleep a major part of you maintaining your muscles in bodybuilding?”

Thor finally stops. But not for Loki’s sake. Come on, this is Thor. So, the silver sports car makes absolute perfect sense for Thor to open and silently wait for Loki to get inside of.

“How did you even find me?” Loki asks, not at all trying to figure out what to not do the next time.

“Intuition.” That’s not angry or annoyed. It’s bored. Thor has the advantage of the squinty eyes to masquerade the indifference on his eyelids, but the voice gives it away.

Loki would be sympathetic if Thor didn’t go out of his way to do this because of, what? A need to overcompensate for all the times Loki’s grandparents should’ve stopped sent him back to his room to do crosswords? He’s openly waiting for an apology, and a real one, that’s 15 years overdue but a lost cause when they’ve parked in the garage, but he’ll settle for an explanation from Thor.

Thor’s face is dim with only the lights in the garage on, which is mildly terrifying. “You asked me if you could go, and I told you no. But you went anyway. I can’t say I didn’t see that coming.”

“What’s the big deal? Why can’t I go out and enjoy myself? I’m not going to get myself hurt.”

“I never said you were. I said no. I shouldn’t have to justify myself.”

“Well, you’re going to have to.”

“Loki, I said no.”

So, no explanation then either. Loki’s done with Thor for the night then.

“Where are you going?”

“To my room.” He saves the running for the stairs where it’s not so preschool. He’s not about to have his valid fucking issues minimized to a temper tantrum like Mom’s new husband dearly loves to do. He throws the door closed behind him.

A hand catches it.

Thor fucking followed him? Really?

“God, can’t you just leave me alone?” He shoves his ass into the bed. “Why do you give a shit if I’m here or in Brixton or whatever the hell or not? Is punishing me for the fact that you resent that you were a stupid 15 year old that important?”

Thor folds his arms like this is routine. “Do you want to eat and have this conversation? Or have this conversation then eat? I didn’t have dinner without you.”

“You were happy to make decisions for me a second ago. Why don’t—?“

“We’ll talk first then.”

“What is there to talk about? You got yourself into this being vindictive, and now you regret that with me here in your face you can’t escape that you almost ruined your life.”

“You didn’t almost ruin my life, Loki.”

“Please, stop lying to me. I’ve spent my whole life having to pretend I believed you every time you said you loved me—“

Hot hands melting through his shirt on his shoulders. Fuzzy gray in front of him a blink turns into Thor’s track pants, Thor’s pockets, draw string. It’s soft on his cheek, the fabric of Thor’s pants, soft on his hands sliding his arms around Thor’s thighs, and he lets the weight of his head press him forward and press the slack in Thor’s pants down. Thor’s soft dick. It’s, what, from temple to chin. Loki has to take a deep breath. Down here, Thor’s smell is so — “Daddy.”

Thor peels himself away. His thumbs jab into Loki’s flesh to get his attention. When Loki tilts his head up, Thor’s waiting with this odd look in his eyes that makes Loki and the warmth in his cheeks feel on the spot. “Loki, I’m not gonna lie to you and say it didn’t take me a while to get there, but you changed me for the better. That’s a fact.”

Those words are honey flushed through Loki’s ears into his soul. The horniness may have to do with that.

“Who knows what kind of spoiled, reckless monster I would’ve turned out to be? You were a wake-up call. It was sign for your grandparents to put a foot up my ass. That cocky dipshit responsible for you, I owe him the world.”

“Then why are you such an asshole to me?”

“I’m not an — I’m an asshole to you? You think so?”

“No, Thor, I’ve been joking the entire time.”

Thor’s hands slip down his shoulders to his arms, and Loki’s arms are pulled from around Thor’s legs with the ease of ‘toss Loki around this bed’ levels of strength. Thor sits down next to him. “I don’t mean it. I… I don’t know what being your father means. I’m 30. What the fuck does a 30 year old know about being the dad to a 15 year old?”

“Nothing clearly. What do you even know about me? And me, not the pictures Mom sent you to give your mom or the reason you had to try not to fall asleep at piano recitals.”

“I never did go to sleep. Never. You know who did though? Laufey went to sleep.”

“Do you really want to compare yourself to Laufey?”

“No. I hate that cunt.” Join the club.

“All you have to do as a father is make sure that I eat, sleep, bathe, don’t kill myself, don’t kill other people—“

“—don’t get yourself or anyone else pregnant.” Thor squeezes his shoulders. “What… were you even doing at a party like that? Didn’t strike me as a place you’d be.”

Because Loki hates Thor, he replies, “What you were doing at 15. Trying to get laid.”

Thor’s laugh is more of a forced huff. “Even after seeing where that got me?” he asks. “You know…  abstinence isn’t the end of the world,” he says, beginning his lecture. Yes, _Thor_ talking abstinence. He’s dead serious too. Loki knows this because Thor’s charisma falls short in super serious situations like say making a once in a blue moon visit to his son. Forced, nervous smiles, garbage metaphors, lots of neck scratching. 

“So, let me make sure I’m getting this,” Loki says. “Because you were a horny 15 year old who was misled that my mom was on birth control, I should wait to have sex until I’m married or mated. Whatever comes first.”

“When you put it like that…”

“It sounds as stupid as it is.” Loki openly looks Thor over, which will be interpreted as him being in thought. “I’m — I’ve never actually — _you know_. So, there’s nothing to worry about. Worry about your love life, which I’m sure is a tug of war between supermodels and women in power suits.”

“That’s good.” Thor would ignore all the other stuff. “Really. I’m probably the one person in the world that’d have any business saying otherwise, but trust me, I’m not. At your age, sex should be between someone you care about if it’s with anyone and someone who cares about you.”

“Did you know that Thanos told me almost something exactly like that? Of course, I told him I was gonna bend over for the next big, blond man or woman that looked my way.” He doesn’t chance not staring at the floor. The incriminating blush will not fuck him over. “But you have to know enough about me to know that getting pregnant is like last on the list in terms of likelihood. Let’s be honest.”

“I thought that too, and look at where we are.”

“I’m like anti-you. Mom was a hot young housewife. None of those are lining up to get with me.” Old, ugly husbands, sure. 

“Count yourself lucky. No surprise the woman down with fucking a 15 year old was a psycho bitch.”

“Hey. That’s my mom you’re talking about.”

“Then you know I’m telling the truth. You didn’t put up a fight when I said I was taking you.”

“Because anywhere else was better than being with Thanos? It’s like Mom has the worst taste in men possible.”

“No ‘no offense’?”

“Nope.”

“I do know one thing about you. You’re the biggest smart ass I’ve ever met.”

“Aw, thanks, Daddy.”

Thor pats him on the shoulder, hard, low lingering, platonic pats. He’s getting up. “Dinner’s probably on the lukewarm side, but I can nuke it the oven and salvage it.”

Shifting is a realization that his underwear are soaked through. Loki does not shift again for the sake of not dying his cheeks guilty red.

That sets Thor’s concern on the rise.

“Um, I’ll be down. I just need to use the bathroom first.”

“Cool.” Another platonic pat. “I’d rather not have to track you down again tonight, alright?” Thor receives an eye roll with Loki’s nod.

Loki swears the tackiness of his juices remain on his fingers sitting down across from Thor — no underwear, the underwear were unsalvageable — who stabs some food onto his fork and asks, “What do you want to do this weekend?”

## <3

“What do you want to do” gets more of a “what do you want to do to try and pathetically endear yourself to me” response with Loki telling Thor that he’d be interesting in seeing a football game. What? He thought the ship sailed on Thor liking him, but if that’s not the case, god forbid he try and prolong the realization that Thor’s initial behavior was the right one.

Lucky him, Thor has a corporate box at Arsenal’s stadium he shares with some friends, the tone of “friends” meaning _those_ friends, the background characters to Loki’s blurry visits to Thor’s family in the neutral ground of birthday dinners and reunions.

Loud, corny, and judgmental or as Thor introduces them as Volstagg, Fandral, and Hogun, which Volstagg insists, crowding in to Loki’s sphere with all of his weight, that Loki remembers. They remember Loki. A Loki “about as high as my knee” and “a bratty little shit” according to Fandral.

“Now he’s a bratty little shit almost your height,” Hogun says, and they all laugh, Thor included.

Loki forgives him after Thor squeezes his side and whispers for him to get comfortable, straddling the boundary between paternal and “paternal” to the appreciation of Loki’s Spank Bank.

Volstagg asks about Loki’s school — “Starting college this fall” — about Loki’s fencing — “In the middle ages, I’d be able to escape getting sold off to some lord by joining the army,” which Thor replies to, “I wouldn’t let either of those things happen” — about Loki’s piano — “I’m at the highest level” — about Loki’s love life.

“What’s wrong with you? Why would you ask him that?” Thor asks, highly amused by Loki’s tongue twisting itself trying to say nothing without saying too much of anything. “He’s 15. He has all the time in the world to worry about that shit in the future,” he says more so to Loki than to them.

“I met Gudrun when I was 15,” Volstagg replies. “And we’ve been together ever since. I know quite a few eligible alpha chaps not that far in age from you actually. Good heads on their shoulders, good futures ahead of them.”

“I think all of that screaming your kids do has caught up with you,” says Thor. “You heard me say not five minutes ago that Loki—“

“Are any of them blond?” Loki asks Volstagg. “I like blond.”

Volstagg and Hogun exchange a look, and Volstagg’s nodding, saying that they’ve got quite a few blonds, but they’re boys, which works for Loki, even better is them being “big.” “Yeah, there’s one of them, a real big guy. Can’t be any more than 18, 19.”

“Let me stop you there. You’re not playing matchmaker for my 15 year old son. Understood?” Thor aims his finger at all of them. “When did you all get so weird?”

“Alrighty then. Moving on,” Fandral says. He changes the topic to his own teen sister’s acting out, but that doesn’t mean Thor’s forgotten.

At halftime, Thor clears his throat like Loki’s so focused on the empty pitch and says, “Big, blond men, huh? That’s really your thing?” sounding unimpressed.

“Big, blond, rich men actually. Your future son-in-law is going to be Billionaire Dolph Lundgren.”

“Seems a little early to limit yourself like that.”

“You sound afraid,” Loki says, and before Thor can fully follow-through on the outrage, Loki also says, “Like you’re scared of the possibility of me bringing home someone who does you better than you do.”

Thor’s backtracked on the outrage in favor of this faintly open-mouthed uncertainty. What? Shocked at how well the kid he knows next to nothing about knows him?  

Hogun and a pint of ale steal Thor’s attention away. They talk to each other, not bothering to see if Loki’s interested. He isn’t. But that’s not the point.

Fandral comes out the box and sits in front of Loki. He jumps when Loki leans his arms on the back of his chair but settles back against them, saying, “If you’re going to try and get beer out of me, you’ll need take that up with Thor. “

“No, I hate beer.” He enjoys Fandral choking in shock. “I just wanted to ask how much money do you make, and if you’re open to trying steroids?”

“Am I open to trying steroids?” Fandral repeats, loud enough for Thor to hear.

“Don’t answer that,” Thor says. “You.” Loki. “Seriously?”

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I couldn’t resist,” Loki tells him, and he seizes the moment to lean his head on Thor’s arm and hug it.  

Thor’s side-eye has him cumming in a bathroom the cheering of a bunch of drunk football fans.

## <3   

“Here,” Thor says, setting a black boutique bag on Loki’s desk, “this is for you.”

Thor’s blank expression is by virtue of him deliberately keeping it that way. In other words, he’s unsure of Loki’s reaction to whatever is in it, the unmarked bag that’s matte and reads upscale.

Loki places it on his lap and pulls out the blackberry red tissue paper.

What the fuck?

‘Vibrator Variety Set.’

Loki returns the bag to his desk and kindly asks Thor, “Please, kill me.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“Like what? Like this isn’t the most embarrassing moment in my entire life? And do you know how much of a feat that is?”

Thor does not know that. “It’s important for you to explore yourself sexuality in safe ways.”

“Don’t give me the ‘sex ed brochure’ talk!”

Thor looks up at the ceiling. “I have a nose, Loki. I know what you do with your free time.”

“And I’ll repeat: please, kill me.”

“Which is fine. That’s fine. I don’t want you to feel desperate. These will let you take your time.” And he’ll see Loki at dinner.

That bag can stare at him all it wants with its promises of next-level orgasms, but Loki refuses.

Up until after a dinner of Thor’s amateur arm porn as he gets so into talking with his hands.

Loki quietly opens the embarrassingly luxury packaging, bottom lip between his teeth. Five sizes ranging from underwhelming to, well, _Thor_. Loki goes for average.

Average does the job amazingly, toe-curlingly, pillow-bitingly well. He soaks his sheets and pillow cases and the tee shirt he has on, beans the ‘Oliver!’ poster he put above his bed a few days ago, not that some careful dabbing doesn’t remove that. And if he did, he can’t say he’d care that much still buzzing long after he’s bothered using the vibrating function, sprawled out on the towel that’s his mattress’ last hope late or early, he can’t tell.

“Thanks,” he calls after Thor when he’s on his way down the stairs to go to work.

Thor doesn’t text him — when does he though? — asking for clarification or bother at dinner. That works for the purposes of Loki’s graduation onto above-average. This way he can use the absence of Thor’s opinion to fill in ones that go along with furthering the fantasy of Thor secretly getting off to the idea that he’s helped Loki get off. Realism is for nonfiction books, alright? If Thor’s going to stretch in his pajamas and show he manscapes his happy trail and _only_ down to his happy trail, Thor owes Loki some help in solving that recurring problem.

Loki’s at an uncomfortable level of hardness-wetness, so the nuclear detonation of Thor’s scent stepping into his room is a drop in the growing ocean in his underwear. The whole of Thor’s room isn’t that far off from the rendering Loki made from the slivers Loki’s gotten over the weeks, so plus one for the accuracy of his fantasies. Painfully Scandinavian except red because Thor loves red. He loves red so much well, the drawer of boxers Loki opens is like 80% red.

The shirt Thor wore yesterday waiting for Loki at the top of the laundry bin has red pinstripes too.

No shit a skeleton can’t pull it off a fraction as good as Thor did, but his lack of everything means it swallows him up in a domineering way, like Thor would if he were wrapped around Loki.

When he cums, it’s like Thor’s cockhead’s the one pressing that spot deep inside of him, fucking him from underneath, hands roaming from Loki’s arms to his chest to the tops his thighs so fast they’re everywhere. He pulls the vibrator out, switching it off, and a gush of warmth dribbles out of him, down his ass, and onto Thor’s shirt. The lot it feels like turns out to be a minor, already-drying splotch of warmer white than the starched white of Thor’s shirt. But Thor discovering his cum-covered shirt provides ammo for later, so Loki leaves it, balling Thor’s shirt up, and returning it to the top of the pile in his bathroom.

He stops to admire Thor’s peaceful bed, committing it to memory for extra accuracy for later too. One day maybe. One day.  

## <3

“Why were you in my room?”

Loki doesn’t take out his ear buds because respect is a two way street that Thor did not travel not knocking before he entered. “I wanted to see what it looked like. Why?”

“Nothing.” Thor leaves.

Thor, still in his aggrieved mood, tells Loki that he’s going to be leaving later. And not coming back until breakfast.

“Ooh, Daddy’s got a date,” Loki says, not bitter whatsoever. “Supermodel or power suit?”

“Neither.” Thor’s tone says he will not answer any questions Loki has nor does he want to hear those questions. That’s not irritating. But Loki respects it, just if Thor doesn’t want to talk about that then they won’t talk at all. Like that bothers Thor. His mind has already left for his booty call’s.

“Use condoms! I like being an only child!” Loki says as goodbye.

Thor’s lunchtime hook-ups — Loki knows that man was not celibate for weeks before this — have collectively rescheduled to night caps. Thor stops informing Loki he won’t be around for any nightmare clean-up after the first four times. Loki simultaneously disdains and appreciates it. He _loves_ hearing that Thor’s doing to someone what he wishes Thor was doing to him — not. But it’s also Thor shutting him out of that part of his life as if Thor didn’t gift Loki’s new friend Above Average not that long ago. No, Loki doesn’t want to hear about how amazing her tits were or how long it took Thor to cum fucking her doggy-style. The thought of that might make his eyes singe a little. He’d like some father-son elbow-nudging and “yeah, it was great.” Something, anything to shake off this feeling that he’s a small boy reaching for an unreachable dad again.

Thor’s not the selective disclosure type. If he’s closing this off from Loki, tense dinner-time quiet-time is on the horizon.

Thor’s door’s ajar, but Loki knocks anyway.

“Yeah?”

Thor’s shrugging off the flannel he left in last night, facing his untouched bed, but glances at Loki. “Good morning. Something wrong?”

“No. I…”

Thor’s reached behind his head and grabbed the hem of his tee shirt, and he pulls. 

May-fucking-day this is not a drill.

The shirt is off. He repeats, the shirt is off.

“Sorry, I forgot what I was going to say.”

Where the hell was this when Loki took anatomy? All the other people have that pesky thing called subcutaneous fat in the way, but nope, not Thor. You want abdominal muscles. He's got all the abdominal muscles. And then some.

“How was your, uh, night?” Loki asks.

“Good. Yours?”

“Fine.” More than. Who knew a singlet could hold that much smell? “Oh, right. I came to ask if we could go out for breakfast. There’s a place I saw in this video that’s highly rated—“

“Yeah. Sure. Give me a second to shower. Then we’ll go.”

Loki extricates himself from Thor’s room and proceeds to upgrade to pre-Thor, which as he’s coming down, proves to be a dubious decision that makes things like sitting, particularly next to Thor, borderline painful. Thor pauses during one of Loki’s long sips of ice water to ask if he’s alright. He’s fine. Better than fine. Great. “How about you? Does the food live up the hype?”

“I’m easily impressed by food. You’re probably a better judge than me.”

The waiter comes carrying a bottle he presents to Loki. “A gentleman sends you the house’s finest bottle of champagne, Krug Clos du Mesnil Blanc de Blancs Brut, 1996.”

“He’s 15.”

“Well, I’m sure the gentleman was unaware. Our apologies—“

“No, wait.” Loki’s never been sent a Michelin-starred restaurant’s best bottle of champagne. This is a new development. “It’s rude to refuse a gift. I’ll just save it for the year.”

“Loki.”

“Who is he? Can you tell him thanks?”

“How about I tell him that?” Thor’s shifting, buttoning his suit jacket, which hot, but Loki lays a suggestive hand on top of his because if Thor pleased, his hand would not be held down by Loki’s and says, pleads, “Daddy.”

Thor stares into him, and whatever he sees does not stop him from standing up. “Who sent this?”

The waiter sells that guy out without blinking. Great.

“No, no, no, no. Daddy.” Loki follows after him, latches onto Thor’s arm which he’s shaking off of when Thor arrives at the Silverfox, who as far as old perverts goes, isn’t all that bad.

That also means that his face has more to lose.

Responding to “He’s fucking 15, you fucking fuck,” with “Well, I apologize. I’ll simply be waiting a year then,” and a smirk in Loki’s direction is one way to guarantee Thor grabbing Silverfox’s tie to keep him in place for the punch that is heard around the world. Silverfox’s consciousness clocks out for the moment, and blood cascades from his rearranged nose.

“Daddy, Thor, holy shit,” Loki tells him, grabbing ahold of Thor’s arm, and he leads Thor back to their table where the waiter’s left the bottle of champagne.

Thor gives it to the next table.

“Shouldn’t we go, so you don’t get arrested?” Loki asks as Thor wipes his knuckles in his napkin. “Who knows who what guy was? What if he was, like, a politician? British politicians really like underage boys.”

In a fucking twist, someone that identifies themselves as the manager comes out to apologize to Thor. He apologizes to Loki too. “We try to ensure our younger patrons feel comfortable.”  

“Yeah, whatever,” Thor says, and the guy scurries away.

Right, _right_. The paternal family means something in this world.

“I guess there goes my plan of using my twink powers for sugar-babydom,” Loki says more to himself than anybody. “Can’t have you punching the lights out of every rich guy in London.”

Thor leans back in his chair and passively watches Loki finish eating.

Thor fucking knocked someone out for even thinking about him in a non-PG way.

Loki cums for Daddy so many times.

## <3

Darcy fist pumps Thor for “dading good.”

“There’s nothing good about punching a guy because he’s got good taste,” Loki says.

“Creepy old dudes aren’t people, Loki,” Darcy replies, and Thor nods, raising his cup of coffee.

“So, I get the feeling that I’m not allowed to date,” Loki tells Thor once Darcy’s left. “You want to be the only person in this house getting any.”

“Why do you need to date? You should be focused on finding yourself.” Thor places one of his pats on Loki’s back as he passes.

“What if it were Fandral?”

Thor’s stopped and turned around to make sure Loki sees the absolutely unamused look on his face. “Fandral wouldn’t even think of it.” Thor’s so sure of that he leaves without explaining further.

But there’s another Arsenal game and Loki’s gotten a good grip on handling Pre-Thor, so Loki wraps his arms around Fandral’s neck — _eh,_ he smells alright — and enthusiastically tells him, “Hey.” Fandral’s frozen in confused shock, allowing Loki to lean back to say, “I Googled you and if your salary’s anything to go by, you’re worth a lot of money.”

Thor’s laughing.

Loki’s yanked back by a hand on his shoulder, and Thor’s laughing and saying through a smile, “He’s funny, funny, funny. Aren’t you?” And into Loki’s ear, “I can’t fucking let you go for a second before you’re trying to stir shit,” which is right but Loki fails to see how Thor anchoring him down with one of his heavy metal arms around his shoulders at first, gradually as the match goes on down to around his ribs, solves anything but ensuring that Loki’s in a permanent and uncomfortable state of arousal.

Thor is the sun and smells like sunshine and orgasms. He has a voice like testosterone-coated gravel. These things and Loki not stirring shit do not and cannot align.

Loki has to tell Thor, “I need to use the restroom,” to get let go to go do that.

It’s middling as far as orgasms go, but it shuts up his genitals for the time being.

Thor’s leaning against the sink counter when Loki exits.

“I know you missed out on the cherished baby-sitting part of my life,” Loki says, turning on the faucet, “but you don’t have to over—“

Thor’s close in his periphery… inhaling.

Loki could explain if he hadn’t forgotten how to speak. 

Thor’s staring at him, thinking, drawing conclusions.

Loki flicks excess water off his hands and turns to clear the air. But his instinct is defensive snark. “What? Did I pee on myself or something?”

Thor taps the counter with his fist then pauses like he’s about to speak, but decides against it, choosing to let Loki off the leash to go take a seat outside. His hand lifts and settles on his forehead, solidifying the prevailing emotion as deep, deep despair.

Loki doesn’t get a second look from Thor when he retakes his seat beside him.  

No, Thor doesn’t look at him again at all.

## <3

If the 15 years of deadbeat dadhood were not any hint, Thor keeps his terminal problems at arm’s length.

He keeps Loki at arm’s length.

Excuse Loki for his refusal to comply. It’s not like this isn’t entirely Thor’s fault in the first place, that Loki’s libido’s confusion doesn’t come from Thor not having been around to sort out that lusting after one’s dad is no bueno.

Thor tries to live around Loki. Loki lives in Thor’s direction. The jaw clenches alone when Loki goes, “Good morning,” or how he tip-toes through conversation over dinner like he might say something — god forbid — encouraging a thousand spiteful orgasms.

Darcy texts him asking _’uh have any idea what Thor’s deal has been lately?’_ after what must’ve been a hard work day, and Loki replies, _Idk_.   

More like ‘I do know’ because he does. He knows, and Thor knows that he knows, and it’s one minor clusterfuck.

The schadenfreude has never been so sweet.

## <3

Thor overcomes his eye contact allergy to tell Loki that he has a day-long business trip to Roskilde but not to fear, Darcy’ll be by to keep him company, roughly meaning to keep him out of trouble.

“I like Roskilde,” Loki can’t resist not saying. “I don’t have class for months, so I don’t see—“

“You can’t come. It’s a business trip.” It frustrates Thor, how minimal the shits that Loki can muster for Thor’s discomfort over a problem he directly caused. Taking self-responsibility is still a new concept for Thor; Loki gets it. It took a lot of ultimatums involving his inheritance from his parents, no doubt, and some over-the-phone harassment from Mom Loki overheard about Laufey being a better parent — not really — when Loki’s not even his blood.

Thor’s check-in text asking Loki how he’s doing and replying when Loki says _‘Horrible, daddy_ _L’_ with, ‘You’ll be fine. See you tomorrow morning,’ is because of Grandma conditioning him to do at least the bare minimum parenting-wise. Loki can’t say the thought of “accidentally” sending him a dick pic doesn’t cross his mind rereading that last text from Thor. It’d be a start.

Thor has proven himself to be responsive to confrontation, so after Thor’s usual return time has come and gone and so has Darcy and her kebab takeout Loki’s vowed not to tell Thor about — like the fast food for breakfast this morning, the tea sandwich tower for lunch — Loki learns that Thor’s sheets are silk and silk holds bodily fluids extremely well.

Loki doesn’t get even a “Good morning” out of Thor and his vacant coffee-drinking, and the concerned son that he is, he asks, “Sleep okay, Daddy?”

Thor stares at the side of Loki’s face, ruing that day he pulled —or more like didn’t — his dick out nearly 16 years ago. “Do me a favor and stay out of my room.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Daddy.” Loki turns to him, innocently slurping at his tea. “What makes you think I’ve been in your room recently?” He meets Thor second for second in the stare-off. Loki wins.

“I’ve been meaning to ask if you could get me something,” he says, and giving Thor a few seconds of relief, he goes for his phone, opens it to that bookmarked page, and holds it toward Thor. “It’s supposed to stimulate my G-spot.” 

Thor beholds the latest worm in the can he opened: the G-spot bulb vibrator.

“You said you wanted me to explore my—“

“I know what I said.” Thor mentally lasers a hole through Loki’s phone. “If I get this for you, will you stay out of my room?”

“Maybe.”

Another black boutique bag waits on the kitchen counter after Thor’s come home and exiled himself to the gym. Along with Loki’s request are extras, overkill: a vibrating cock ring, a fucking fleshlight, all a plea to, “Please, keep your warped sexuality, which is my fault but that’s besides the point, to yourself.”

If Thor insists.

Loki doesn’t try not to show up late to dinner, jittery and definitely reeking of several orgasms had in tribute to Thor.

Thor says nothing because Thor is learning a simple fact with Loki: there’s really no winning.

## <3

Loki says he’ll stay out of Thor’s bedroom. The gym is not Thor’s bedroom.

The gym’s speakers play Loki’s music at a more appropriate volume and bass level than any of Loki’s headphones, so that open mat space Thor probably uses for one-armed, jumping push-ups and weighted burpees Loki turns into a dance floor.

Loki’s not a strong proponent of organized sports, but they have the idea of using body movement as a medium of emotional venting right. And for the sake of maintaining his body’s balance, his kegel muscles can’t be the only ones getting any attention.

He has a real good groove going, shifting from hip to hip, hands keeping busy on his ass, rhythmic hair flips that add a nice flair to his dramatic sing-along of Justice’s “New Lands.” This would be the time Thor chooses to arrive, right before the guitar solo Loki’s about to shred, but Loki can shred guitar in the privacy of his room later. He can’t stare at Thor’s approaching reflection while he gropes himself in rhythm though.

Thor stops at the mat’s edge to say, from a rough lip read, “Pause music,” and like that, he steals away Loki’s music.    

Loki petulantly drops his hands to his sides. “You could’ve let me finish the song since I was here first and all.”

“What are you doing down here?” Thor asks.

“Working out? Last I checked, there wasn’t a ‘Loki, keep out sign’ on the door here too.”

“Well,” says Thor, conceding that point, “are you finished?”

“No. But I don’t see why that’s your concern because I’m clearly not going to be in your way. And if it’s about the music, everything I listen to is very motivational.” Loki huffs. “If you need me to, I’ll get my ear buds.”

“I’ve got mine.” Thor bows out of the conversation to go to the opposite side of the gym to brood over the dumbbells because it turns out the design choice of 180 degrees of mirrors to admire himself pumping iron from all angles traps Loki in his line of sight some way or the other.   

Works for Loki.

Until it doesn’t, a pesky not-so-little hard-on defying all attempt of taming by Loki’s track pants’ waistband. Thor should be grateful to it for leading to Loki’s early exit, but instead, Thor welcomes Loki to the dinner table with, “I’d appreciate it if you could go to the gym earlier. That way you’re finished when I come.”

Just for that, Loki replies, “Why can’t we come at the same time, Daddy?”

Thor slips back into the trap of looking at Loki like that will reveal that he’s misheard him. “Funny.”

“Who said I was joking?” Loki sucks on his spoon. He pulls it free with a pop. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.” Loki tilts his head to the side for an extra sting to the smile. “So, you’ll come inside when I’m down there tomorrow?”

Thor chews his teeth into bone meal, but he’s there in the gym as Loki pops his ass on his knees, the least sorry he’s been in forever.   

## <3

Thor’s next business trip couldn’t come at a more convenient time for him. “I’ll be gone four days,” he says, making eye contact with his carrots over Loki. “Darcy’s coming with me. Brunnhilde will check-up on you.”

“You mean, mean Brunnhilde?”

“She’s the only Brunnhilde we both know, so yes.”

“Okay then. If you wanted me dead, you could’ve said so. I could do it more cleanly and painless than she will.”

“She hates kids. I don’t know. She might like you now that you’re not one.” Even Thor knows that’s absolute bullshit.

He tells Loki that he’ll “try” to call him every day. Loki doubts that. He’s sending Brunnhilde so he can talk to her and avoid direct interaction with Loki as long as he can.

“Have fun in Tokyo,” Loki tells him, catching him as he’s going into his room, and Thor begrudgingly says thanks.

## <3

Brunnhilde grabs a beer from the fridge, pops it open with her teeth, spits the cap into the trash bin, and tells Loki, “I used to not think you were Thor’s kid to be honest, but looking at you”—long gulp of beer—“I can see it.”

Loki met Brunnhilde on his 8th birthday and she crouched down in front of him and said, “For you sake, I’m hoping it turns out you’re that other guy’s kid. That family is fucked. Take it from me, you’re better off staying away from it.” This was a small comfort Loki latched on to justify, in retrospect, Thor’s shittiness as a father, but given that Brunnhilde also told him that he was the reason his “parents,” Mom and Laufey, were getting divorce right after, was she the most credible source?

Turns out she was right. Now that he’s “of age” Brunnhilde tells him all the vivid details about this aunt Loki’s met once and this friend of Thor’s and if he ever had a doubt his grandfather Odin is a garbage being, here’s more dirt about his escapades as a young man. “All things considered, Thor’s turned out not so bad,” Brunnhilde says. “He’s not winning any personality awards but working with the man isn’t the worst gig in the world. Have you seen what they’re paying me? How could I complain?”

Loki traces the ring of water from Brunnhilde’s second bottle of beer. “Why hasn’t Thor gotten married and had any kids? Did I scare him off the life script that hard?”

“Let’s see.” Brunnhilde sucks her teeth. “I think it’s a combination of you, getting screwed over by your mum, finding out the kind of man his dad really was — not someone you’d aspire to be, that one — and I don’t know, old-fashioned romanticism?” That idea puts her way off. “He mentioned one thing or the other about ‘waiting for the one’ when I got him a bit plastered a few months back. He was seeing a bird. Jamie or something. Thought that might be it, but they split a year or two ago. Maybe he’ll do a Clooney.”

Loki’ll not be attending that wedding.

Brunnhilde loses her patience for him when he refuses to give her “the lowdown” about his new step-dad and the rumors of Thanos having murdered his personal assistant Loki can’t confirm or deny (hint: Thanos so did that shit.) “This is a favor. I’m currently on the clock for a job that doesn’t include putting up with prissy little boys.”    

He orders pizza, greasy, meaty, unhealthy pizza and when Thor’s text comes in at 3 am, Loki ignores it. He hears how pissed-off that made Thor from Brunnhilde during her lunch drop-in. “The prissiness must run in your blood.” Please. That’s taking credit away from Loki’s proudly homegrown prissiness.

He goes to a restaurant which is reservation-only for those without Thor’s Black Card to treat himself to a five course meal and the bottle of wine a “nice gentleman” twice Thor’s age that winks at Loki sends to his table because Loki can pass for 16 without Thor around shouting that he’s not. Some nerve. Men who’re at the proper age to be his father without any stupid teenage mistakes having happened want to take care of him and Thor loses his mind.

Thor must have a sixth sense for it because lo and behold, he’s calling Loki.

Loki ignores it and tells him, _I’m out. Can’t answer._

_Then go where you can_ , Thor says. _There. That easy._

Loki doesn’t reply.      

He ducks out the restaurant without entertaining that guy who is closer to Odin’s age than Thor’s judging by his hairline but aha, with wine bottle intact. Nothing better to polish off the post-orgasm high than some Dom Perignon. 

His screen open to YouTube goes dark with a ‘Call from Thor Odinson.’

Loki’s in a tee shirt and only a tee shirt, and Thor’s shirt is at the edge of the bed out of picture.

He answers.

Thor’s face in morning sunlight, not the most irritating view.

“Daddy Dearest, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Did you enjoy dinner? I’ve been to the place. They have good chocolate mousse cake.”

Loki has to think about how for a few seconds. “Checking your credit card, smart.”

“Necessary since you don’t want to answer the phone.”

“Yeah, but I also couldn’t without getting the stink-eye from a bunch of people. I hate having people look at me when it’s not to appreciate me.” Loki tucks his knees under him. “How’s Tokyo? I’ve been once. I kept getting stopped and asked how my skin was so pale. I told them I was a draugr.”

“It’s nice as usual. Businessmen who aren’t jackasses, lots of formality.”

“Oh, wait, before I forget. Look what some nice man gave to me…” Loki reaches for the bottle on the nightstand and brings it to the camera to show. “You should stay in Tokyo for another few days that way I can enjoy creepy men indulging me.”

Thor looks disgruntled. “You should’ve taken Brunn—no, you shouldn’t have. She’d encourage that bullshit.” Thor wipes his hands over his eyes. “You should go to bed. If it’s eight here, it’s midnight there. Volstagg is gonna come get you for breakfast tomorrow. You can meet his family. You’ll have fun.”

“And I thought I got my vindictiveness from Mom. Ok. Sure. There’s food involved, so I’ll cooperate.”

“Don’t finish that bottle off either. I’ll tell Brunnhilde you didn’t share a bottle of Dom with her, and she’ll make you wish you did.”

Loki rolls his eyes, says he won’t, and slides the cursor over the end call button. “Enjoy Tokyo as long as you need,” he says and hangs up.

He’s oddly bereft after the call, so he makes Thor proud in corking the wine and going to bed.

He’s glad for that with Volstagg’s five-a-side squad of equally ginger kids and their curiosity over Thor’s mysterious, long-lost son. Volstagg’s wife, an omega, prods him about his life goals, losing interest when Loki mentions “marrying some preferably attractive rich guy.” “Oh, he’ll find love, and his mind will change,” Volstagg reassures her, but Volstagg has to hear enough secondhand about Loki to know that’s unlikely to happen.

Love is nowhere to be found in anyone in his life’s relationships, but you know what is? Lust. Lust is an element in abundance. Loki will meet Billionaire Dolph Lundgren and settle for lust because love is fairytales.  

“You don’t believe in love, do you?” Loki asks Thor, who’s called at the same exact time as last night, having told him about Volstagg’s pipedream which he stayed noticeably silent during.

Thor adjusts the fist he’s leaning on. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Mom says she loved Laufey yet not even a year into their marriage she cheated on him with a 15 year old boy. Sure, you looked way older, but that shouldn’t have mattered if she loved him.”

“Then she didn’t love him. If she loved him, they would’ve bonded. They weren’t. Never did. They didn’t love each other. Now, look. They’re divorced.”

“How do you know it’s love and not just hormones and neurochemicals?”

“Everything can be boiled down to hormones and neurochemicals.”

“I mean like… How do you know it’s not your instincts, that it’s not a programmed biological reaction but sincere, organic love?”

“You love things. Take fencing. Better, screwing with people. Now, keep that in mind and apply it to whoever. Add in the physical attraction, that sort of thing. You’d know.”

“And Brunnhilde says your maturity is stuck at 15.”

Thor rolls his eyes, getting sun into them at the top so they’re crystal blue. Thor’s elected for the full man-bun over in Tokyo, the half-up, half-down too edgy for formal business negotiations, which frees his face to be sun-licked and touched at the yield points, corners of eyes, between the eyebrows, around the mouth, with vague lines that come to life when Thor smiles or does that, this, the brow furrowing like his brain’s buffering.     

He’d kiss Loki so good.

“I should go to bed,” Loki says.

“You should.”

“In case you forgot, enjoy Japan for as long as you want to. And if that is literal months, that’s okay.” Loki swipes his cursor to the end call button.

The mute and no video buttons are right by it.

Loki mutes Thor. He mutes Thor and as if he’d ended the call, clicks into another window.

He plays some slow, moody music and shoves his laptop out of the way, but still, angled toward him by chance. Masturbating for someone other than himself is a new frontier, but like that was full of pretending and fantasizing, this will be too. There’s no saying that Thor’s hasn’t hung up. Loki could be sliding his underwear off, hiking his tee shirt above his nipples for no one.

His fingers find wet hooking around his thigh and dipping into him. He has to fuck them into himself, two then three. His first “yes” is at the goodness of having a hand around his cock and three fingers jammed deep into him. Would Thor like that? Thor would love that, standing there at the edge of the bed watching Loki getting himself nice and gooey. He’d have to squeeze that hard-on obviously in trousers because he’d be in his suit, two-thirds of it, the trousers and the button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows so Loki could see the muscles flexing when he touched himself. He’d tell Loki how pretty his pussy is gasping for a cock after he slips his fingers out. He can’t help, can’t stop the, “Daddy,” when he rubs that drool all over his cock and pinches his nipple.     

Pre-Thor emerges from beneath his pillow. No buzz. The size is overwhelming alone. It’s always a shock that it manages to push past that tight ring inside him, always a shock that “Daddy’s so big.” Daddy’s so big. Loki pulls it out for those gooey strands linking his pussy to the head. When it goes back in, it’s another “Daddy.” He lets go of his cock, can’t, won’t cum yet. He has to build up to it. Those ones are the best. Taking himself there where it’s all a mess of hot pressure about to explode but pulling out to the very tip to let it all settle down — over and over and over.

He presses it in deep to that spot, and he’s cumming hard — “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy” — hurrying to grab his cock and help it pump it all out, yanking out the vibrator so Daddy can watch him clench and clench and clench.

Loki lays there, legs splayed, covered in cum, forever. Post-orgasm regret is post-orgasm doubt. The obvious thought that Loki’s trying to run up a 90 degree angle after Thor, that this is so utterly one-sided and Loki’s attempts, if they can even be called that, are further unbalancing the scales.

Loki’s showered and in a towel when he chances it, sitting at his laptop and opening FaceTime. Thor’s no longer there as expected. Loki clicks their call history. The duration of the last one — Loki does the math in his head. Their conversation lasted a whole 20 minutes shorter than the duration.

He closes his laptop and biting back a smile, he drops back onto the bed.

They’re fucked in this together.

## <3

In addition to smelling like Thor, Thor’s office has a record player.

Thor’s records are metal and hard rock, but Loki has taste, so it’s Kimbra’s _The Golden Echo_ he picked-up out with Darcy he’s kicking his legs along to in the desk chair.

He spins.

Thor’s in the doorway.

“Daddy!”

Thor’s here in the flesh, the firm, impossibly warm, flesh. His smell, as in the sap straight from the bark rather than the syrup in the supermarket, it nestles inside of Loki and glows this cozy note of good. 

Loki untangles his arms from around Thor and settles on the flat of his feet. He’s fucking beaming. That’s not embarrassing at all. “I just wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow. Or a month from now.”

“I felt like coming back today,” Thor says. There’s an intensity to his stare that sets off Loki’s hair tuck behind the ear nervous tic. “Made yourself at home I see.”

“It makes me feel like I’m wearing a smoking jacket and exclusively drink rum.” He distances himself from Thor to turn off his music. “By the way which you do neither of. You’re failing this study, Thor.”

Thor’s sunk down into the armchair, and he’s pouring himself some of the brandy — Loki did the sniff test; Laufey loves the stuff — from the decanter he keeps on the end table, not a lot but at consolation amounts. The 11 and a half hour flight back was a lot of time to go through the stages of grief. Thor’s peek at Loki from the ankles up and the reassuring smile do confirm. “I might have a smoking jacket upstairs. The rum…”

Loki perches him on the arm and unfolds his legs into Thor’s lap. “It’s in the pantry in the liquor cabinet.”

“Mm. I don’t want to know how you know that.” Thor’s lips shine with the leftover brandy. He licks them. “I got you something.”

“Oh.” Here comes the preemptive embarrassment.

“No, it’s not a sex toy. As if you need any more,” Thor murmurs into his glass. After downing the rest in one gulp, he tells Loki to hold it and reaches over on the other side of the chair, into his carry-on from the sound of it.

A bottle of wine is what Thor comes up with.

The label’s in Japanese.

“The most expensive wine available in Japan. It’s supposed to taste pretty good.”

“Daddy…” Loki drops the empty glass onto the table to free his hands to place them on the sides of Thor’s head, his hair so silky, and he straddles him, the wine there like one last failsafe in front of Thor’s dick.

Thor’s eyes drift shut as Loki presses his lips to Thor’s. And that’s all it is, him pressing their lips together. Intent aside, on its own, as innocent as kiss as any other between father and son.

He pulls back to smile down at Thor. “You have to punch yourself in the face now.”

“I can make an exception once.”

## <3

“You know you, um, didn’t hang up last time.” Thor glances away from his vegetable prepping to Loki. “When we were FaceTiming? Just something to look out for the next time.”

Loki has a purposely blank face. “Oh. Okay.”

Thor’s watching him mimic an internal meltdown. Not one to be a hypocrite, he encloses a gigantic hand on Loki’s shoulder and tells him to take over chopping. “I’ve seen how good you are with your hands.”

He receives the appropriate incredulity from Loki.

Thor winks and starts talking about Loki’s piano playing skills like that was clearly what he was referencing.

Loki’s toes curl.

## <3

Loki violates the self-imposed perimeter around the building both Darcy and Google Maps have IDed as Thor’s building after some fidgeting in line at a restaurant Loki couldn’t help but think Thor and his super healthy meals would approve of. The food bag is the only reason all the Suits thinking he’s got lost on the way to sixth form, how comparatively “hip” he in his shades and skinny jeans must look, ignore him.

Thor has a top floor office. He is the boss.

Thor’s secretary is the first desked person Loki bothers talking to. Having seen the guy on Darcy’s lock screen getting squeezed by her may have to do with Loki not risking interrupting Thor in a meeting or something. Perpetually bewildered looking. ‘Ian Boothby’ must have the time of his life working for Thor. “Er, do you have an appointment scheduled with Mr. Odinson?”

“No, that’d ruin the surprise,” Loki says. “I’m surprised that Darcy hasn’t shown you a picture of me. I don’t know whether to be flattered she wants to keep me all to herself or offended she doesn’t want to share me with everyone.”

Ian blinks with an open mouth. “Er… Loki?”

“You do know me. Anyway, can I walk right in, or will I undermine Thor’s angry stare down with some fat cat?”

“You should—“

“Loki?”

After a rueful smile for Ian, Loki presents himself to Thor with a, “Surprise?”

“What are you doing out here? Ian, why didn’t you send him in?”

“I was about to. I—“

“Hold all of my calls for the next hour.” Thor holds open the door for Loki.

Loki does a twirl to take in the full view, East London, the River Thames, business mode Thor.

To think Loki once associated suits with creatures like Laufey and Thanos.

“Sorry to screw up your lunch-time booty call plans,” Loki says, setting the bag on the coffee table. “I’m a better time anyway.”

Thor’s hands grab the sides of his face, and the kiss is brief but it’s there, and it’s heavenly. “I thought you were the lunch-time booty call.”

Loki sits before his shaky legs give out. He makes Thor do the same by one of his belt loops and scoots in close, pressing them thigh to big, burning thigh. “I was about to have lunch at a place that I’m now questioning whether you own or not when I thought why not make your lunch better with not only me but good, annoyingly healthy food not cooked by you.”

“I’m not sorry for trying to keep you alive as long as I can.”

“Yes, it’s clearly that and not that because I’m around it’s more convenient to share your secret of bodily success.”

Thor looks away from the takeaway box to smirk at Loki.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Thor tries to commandeer plating and portioning, but Loki doesn’t get the chance to interfere beyond some cutting and stirring in Thor’s precious mealtime routine, so he knocks elbows and wrists and knuckles with Thor trying to get Thor to “worry about what goes into your own body, Daddy.”

“Come here,” Thor warns him before one of his gigantic arms seizes Loki’s waist and drags Loki onto his lap, his thigh splitting Loki’s legs open to accommodate it. “One of these days your mouth’s going to get you into trouble.”

“One day soon I hope.”

Thor’s arm flexes around Loki. “Eat.”

Be careful what you wish for.

Creamy lemon chicken pasta lends itself well to indulgent noodle slurping and leisurely chewing that hollows Loki’s cheeks out as if, say, he were sucking something, for example the fork that he has no choice but to practically prod his tonsils with to properly clean it of all that lemon sauce. It’s so delicious he can’t help but squirm, and then in order to not fall, squeeze down on Thor’s thigh.

“I don’t own the place,” Thor says, close enough to Loki’s ear that his breath is warmth on the shell of it, “but seeing how much you’re enjoying it, I’m considering making an offer.”

Pinky in his mouth, Loki looks over his shoulder, humming as he sucks.

Thor’s eyes stray to Loki’s demonstration of how thorough his mouth can be.

Darcy has brilliant timing, doesn’t she? “Cute. Look at you two.”

Thor leans around Loki to return to eating like they totally, innocently were.

“As a card-carrying Daddy’s Girl,” Darcy says, “I approve.”

Thor asks her business stuff Loki has no interest in, meaning a good time for Loki to slip off into the bathroom before his pants get damp. Loki tries to stand up, but Thor holds him there, not absently either. Loki’s second try earns a squeeze that’s almost a warning. They’re not doing this baby-sitter shit again.

Loki doesn’t try to get up again, but if Thor’s keeping him here, he’s getting comfortable. He nestles his butt back into Thor’s lap proper.

A stick of dynamite wrapped in rubber. Covered in wool and denim, Thor’s pants and Loki’s because it’s through them that Thor’s hard-on has introduced itself.

Thor chuckles at something Darcy’s said, using it as reason to send a reassuring look out the side of his eye. Oh, that’s the absolute least he can do having shattered Loki’s dreams of being speared by that monster. Basic arithmetic says that nothing short of a miracle would fit that inside him. Not that Thor can’t still try.

Loki readjusts his seat on Thor which just happens to allow him to feel it in all its majesty.

Thor tenses. His voice is all strained asking Darcy the sort of questions meant to get her out the door. Poor Thor. What a burden he has to bear.

“Am I on escort duty?” Darcy asks.

“No, I’m — I think I’ll take the rest of the day off. Don’t take enough of them. I’ve got him handled.”

The moment the door’s shut behind Darcy, Loki’s abandoned on the couch and Thor’s standing, turning away from Loki, and no doubt rearranging all that precious cargo.

“Are you alright, Daddy?” Loki asks, using Thor’s elbow to pull himself up. He slips around Thor’s back, and his dick has a mind of its own, using the opportunity for a glimpse of sweet friction on the back on Thor’s thigh.

Thor’s black holes — formerly known as eyes — look at him like he can’t believe Loki did that.

“I’ve got the bathroom first,” he says, biting his bottom lip. “I know I won’t take long.”

Loki gasps, “Daddy,” nice and loud for the opening door outside the water closet. When he passes Thor, he tells him, “All yours, Daddy.”

The faucet can barely conceal the “fuck” he swears he hears.

## <3

“Good morning, Daddy.”

“Good morning, Lo.”

Loki’s not sure whether Thor’s purposely left out the second-syllable or if the mouthful of coffee he’s trying not to choke on has left it out for him. Or metaphorically the Dolfin shorts that were the eighties’ challenge to how short shorts could get before qualifying as underwear. As Thor can likely see with Loki on his toes to reach for the jar of granola — Loki not being Thor’s height has not sunk in — Loki’s wearing briefs to keep his junk from getting any ideas of outdoor exploration.

Loki prepares his granola totally unaware of Thor’s meticulous examination of Loki’s legs and ass, telling him about this “super weird dream” he had where they were superheroes and “Of course, you had a red cape. You love red so much, I bet your underwear are.”

“I don’t know. Aren’t they?”

Loki spins on his heel and places his bowl on the island, expression confused.

“You’d know. You’re the one who’s been in my shit.”

Scandalized, Loki replies, “And why would I do that?”

“You tell me.”

Loki summons a guilty face to mull over confessing over his granola with. “If I did, it was only because you were leaving at night, and I’d be lonely…” He blinks wide eyes at Thor. “Your scent, it makes me feel… good.”

To say the absolute least.

Thor knows in some way Loki’s telling the truth, so he and his increasingly guilty conscience can only drop in for lunch, depending on how enthusiastic Loki is in getting himself close to Thor sitting at the counter or the breakfast table or the couch, giving himself the rest of the day off to either convince Loki into some “decent pants” to go sight-seeing with him or be the ear Loki whispers into when he’s sat on the edge of Thor’s desk in his study testing how the most innocent subjects can be turned into allusions of how the moment Loki’s alone he’s going to be moaning “Daddy.”  

“Daddy,” he moans at Thor, gripping Thor’s forearm fruitlessly because Thor’s decided they’re going into this active wear shop, so they’re going. “Don’t you have loads of workout gear? I’ve seen. You have more basketball shorts than actual professional basketball players.”

If Thor’s entering a mecca of muscle-bound freaks and receives the usual ogling from the attendants, that’s all the proof needed that Thor is a god.

“Some doesn’t fit. I’ve put on some mass,” Thor says off-handedly.

Loki stares down at his crotch expecting an explosion of cum. Thankfully, that’s all internal. “That’s… nice.”

Thor’s in paradise. His devotion to “weave” and “wicking” allow Loki to wander off to mindlessly look through racks of sweats and joggers and shorts. The men’s shorts section’s idea of “shorts” — more like mediums — would be reprieve that Thor does not deserve, not if Loki has to tolerate Thor and his ever-growing muscles. As for the women’s, these are more Loki’s speed.

“Hey,” is Thor’s half-warning because his hand’s already grabbed Loki’s hip. He hilariously has a shoulder full of clothes. “Find anything?”

“No, but that’s obviously because you’ve find everything for the both of us,” Loki replies. “I’ve discovered the English have a strange aversion to men showing their thighs.”

“Most people don’t have legs like you. On that subject…” Thor leads him away from the Women’s Shorts section over to socks. “I wasn’t sure of your size,” he’s saying, searching, searching, and finding striped knee-highs. “This is it, right?” It is. “Completes the retro look.”

They do, but given the eagerness in Thor’s expression, Loki doubts that’s what caught Thor’s interest.

Loki grabs another pair, these ones thigh-highs. “The Japanese have this term, right? Um, ‘zettai ryouiki.’ Absolute territory. It describes the amount of skin between a skirt and high socks. It can apply to shorts too.”

Thor nods, but he’s not heard a single word out of Loki’s mouth.

“Daddy likes high socks,” Loki says to himself. “Noted.”

“I don’t not like high socks,” Thor says in some ill-fated defense of himself, but he shuts up when Loki grabs these red, white-striped ones.

When the cashier asks how Thor found everything, he replies, “Fantastic.”

Thor seems like he has a lot on his mind during the ride home, so Loki figures escaping upstairs to swap the jeans for some black shorts and those red thigh-highs is due. He listens for Thor’s footsteps, and when Thor’s arrived at his room, he opens the door and asks, “Daddy, how do I look?”

All of Thor’s except his eyes have frozen.

Loki may or may not have an obvious hard-on only tamed by his tight briefs.

“Great,” Thor settles on. “Great.” He opens his door. “I’m gonna go unpack, maybe go for a run. An evening run sounds like a good idea. See you for dinner?”

“Have fun, Daddy.”

The clink of Thor’s door locking tells him he plans to.

## <3

“Daddy, you could send Darcy to orientation with me. I wouldn’t mind,” is Loki’s out to Thor and his disinterest Loki’s life outside of him that he still harbors deep-down, and is summarily dismissed with, "Darcy is the last person I want at orientation with you — one of the last. Tony Stark would be..."

Tony Stark, whoever that is, earns a wince from Thor.

“It’ll be fun,” Thor says in his flannel and jeans instead of the suit for the workday he’s generously taken off. “I missed all the school stuff, so this will be a new experience.”

A new experience, not necessarily a pleasant one. If there’s nothing more Loki loathes, it’s involuntarily having attention drawn to himself and what else is Thor in the presence of hot-blooded teens and their undersexed moms and dads than an attention-seizer? Hell, Thor owes no less than a hundred apologies for the broken necks the jolly blond giant leaves in his wake. Because as Loki tries to sink into the pavement or the floor during some announcement or speech, Thor bares his pearly whites for the opportunists that’ve happened to fall into the back of the crowd — Loki prefers it back here for his reasons, Thor because of common, tall-person courtesy — to be the newest winners of some idle chit chat from Thor.

They’re Norwegian. They don’t do small-talk. They do silence — see: Loki — or blunt — see: “This man’s a professor? I don’t like his attitude. If he causes any problems for us, his ass is getting replaced” to a swooning mom and her equally swooning daughter. “You can’t just tell people you’re going to abuse your power to get respected professors replaced,” Loki murmurs to Thor, but Thor smiles smugly as said professor looks this way and says, “Yes, I can.”

The idea of subtlety to someone whose presence is a nuclear bomb to the attentions of those within the mile radius must be utterly foreign. Because why else would Thor be making eyes with a woman with tits, each the size of Loki’s head, across the room while Loki does the studious thing and introduces himself to a professor? Loki leaves him for five minutes and Loki and the good night’s sleep he’s been giving to Thor with the socks and shorts are forgotten.

Loki leaves Thor to his own and that woman’s devices.

Without Thor, the natural force-field of a resting bitch-face and a scent that registers as outside the bounds of what most have ever encountered works well. The already-formed packs of families slither past the lone wolf that’s either someone’s lost little brother or one of those overdeveloped kids with zero social skills. It’s very primary school.

Only a professor could have enough ego to see Loki, unfriendly aura and all, minding his own business reading student work on a wall and think let’s bother him, an alpha professor. He’s big. He’s blond. Thor’s bigger, blonder. Thor’s also probably getting blown by someone’s mom in an empty classroom.

It turns out this man is Loki’s Physics professor. He was once a young Dutch boy in an English-speaking college. If Loki were to need someone, he’d be more than happy to help. Among many other things he’d be happy to do to Loki judging by the look in his eye. It’s not like he’s the first teacher that’s wanted to fuck Loki. What a useful thing that is.

Thor arrives with staccato footsteps and a breeze of his sharpened scent.

“Daddy.”

Thor’s hand glues itself to the back of Loki’s neck as Thor says into his hair, “Don’t leave like that again.” He brushes off his irritation to shake hands with the now a lot less confident professor. Thor’s existence is a bruise to every other alpha’s ego. “Thor, Thor Odinson.”

“I thought my nose was trying to tell me something,” the professor says, yanking back a bright white hand. “You must be the husband then.”

Thor’s brow furrow is a very amused “What?” “I—“

Loki’s lips are prickled by the stubble on Thor’s cheek.

“A certain level of maturity is necessary to get in to this institution at 15. I imagine you don’t have a minor role in that,” the professor tells Thor. “Alphas do tend to bring out the best in their omegas.”

Thor looks to Loki as if to ask why the hell he isn’t supposed to correct these misunderstanding, and Loki bites his lip and tightens his hold around Thor’s arm, saying without saying, “Trust me.”

The professor tells Loki that he’ll see him around and reiterates what a pleasure it is to meet Thor, a pleasure in the sense of a glossy black spider rolling over onto its back to reveal its red hourglass surely. 

“What the hell was that?” Thor asks.

“It was you paying me back for ditching me,” Loki says.

“I ditched you? You’re the one that left—“

“Darcy wouldn’t have wandered off to go ruin the panties of as many housewives as possible. She’d probably have been my wingman for one of those big blonde guys I’ve seen out the corner of my eye, the ones that aren’t professors.”

“Mm, he’s _your_ professor?”

“Don’t worry about it, Daddy. He won’t be trying to get me bent over his desk now that he knows I have a big, blond man doing that.”

“Do you?”

“In my dreams.” Loki lets Thor go and heads for the exit. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before your new fanclub kidnaps you.”

## <3

Loki could’ve called and told Thor he’s not wasting his time in his last lecture, but Loki could’ve also ruined any chance of sneaking up on Thor, and Loki will never pass up an opportunity to take another year off Thor’s life.

Thor’s scent ushers Loki down the stairs — not to the gym surprisingly where Thor usually is on his early Thursdays. The picture of “Therapeutic Thursdays” Thor’s painted for Loki doesn’t include Thor doing laundry, but nothing other than the washer and drier stuck out to Loki when he got the house tour and saw the utility room. Maybe Loki can get an explosion of clothes out of this.

He grabs the door handle and slowly disengages it. He goes with the tried and true, “Boo!”

Cock.

That’s organ-scrambling, painfully pink cock in Thor’s fist dribbling bubbly-clear strings from its shiny head — onto a basket of laundry the color palette says is Loki’s clothes, Loki’s clothes like — a blur of sweaty chest peeking out of the dressing gown — those briefs dangling in Thor’s other first, that hunter green a perfect match for the ones Loki wore the day before yesterday, those briefs held to Thor’s nose.

Hypocrite thy name be Thor.

“Shit,” Thor’s saying as he returns Loki’s underwear to the basket, his enormous cock to the magic hat he must keep it in, in his boxers. “I’m sorry. Shit.”

“You should be. You more than upstaged my surprise.”

Thor braces himself against the washer, hanging his head. “You shouldn’t have seen that.”

Oh, Loki’s body thinks otherwise. “I really shouldn’t have. It’s all I’m going to be thinking about. How huge Daddy’s cock is.”

Thor’s shaking his head, reaching for a towel on the rack to wipe the precum off his hands with. “There are rules for this,” he says, slowly like he’s making sure he hears himself.

“Rules for that? How large someone’s cock can possibly be?”

“For being attracted to your own kid.”

When he puts it like that, Loki has to get closer to put an end to the self-flagellation before it ruins the mood. “Daddy, we really don’t need to talk about this. It’s worked so far.”

“I know.” Unfortunately, that is not for what Loki said. “I know. It’s normal. You’re unmated. Old enough to be—“ Thor sighs. “I’ve never bonded. The urge peaks around this age. And I’ve never lived—“

“With me?”

Thor glances at him. “That too.” He resumes his washer watching. “We’re in close quarters. That doesn’t help. Especially since we’ve never been. Our bodies might as well be strangers. So, it’s normal. To feel the way you feel, to feel the way I feel.”

Loki loathes that ‘but.’

“Thinking about it is one thing. There’s nothing wrong with thinking about it. I think about caving some bastard’s face in at least once a day. But when you do it, that’s when it becomes a problem. I know you don’t think that. God, if you’d have your way.” That exhale is more longing than regretful. “I don’t know if you know what you want, Loki. Frankly, it doesn’t even matter. None of this matters,” Thor says with hopefulness, looking Loki straight in the eye. “As long as we don’t directly involve each other, we’re fine.”

Like hell they are.

“Okay,” Loki says to the neglected monster peeking out of Thor’s dressing gown. “So, you can finish stroking your cock then, Daddy.”

“Loki.”

“What? You said it’s okay as long as it doesn’t directly involve both of us, and it technically doesn’t involve me, only my dried pussy juice on my underwear.” He goes all-in. “If you want, I can give you the ones I have on. They’re practically soaking at this point.”

Thor can’t look at Loki for fear that he’ll make the right decision.

“Come on, Daddy. You owe me. You’ve been spraying your spunk all over my dirty laundry and huffing my underwear, and I baptize your bed once, you lose your mind.”   

“I…” Thor’s hand comes down on his just short of Thor’s dick. “No.”

“No—?”

“No.” Thor backs up. “You’re my son, Loki,” he incredulously whispers. “I’m your father.”

“News to me the past 15 fucking years. Being my ‘father’ has never stopped you from doing whatever the fuck you want in regard to me before so why should it stop you now?”

Thor should clench his jaw like that more. “It’s not remotely the fucking same.”

“I beg to differ.” Loki pointedly looks at Thor’s visible hard-on. “You obviously do too.”

Thor looks like he’s split between whipping it out and fucking Loki’s smart little mouth it or trashing the place. Sadly, he chooses the third option, storming out and saying without looking back that’s he going to the gym early.

The nerve he has to not even slip Loki a cumshot to live off for the foreseeable future. After all the orgasms Loki has unknowingly and freely gifted him in the bottom of his underwear, Thor owes Loki an enthusiastic welcome into his bedroom that the unlocked door counts as. Pushing back the bedding, Loki climbs into that nest of Thor’s scent and fucks all the cum and cream out of himself in Thor’s sheets.

He runs into none other than Thor doing his walk of un-shame and answers Thor’s expressionless with a kiss, quick enough to be innocent but slow enough for him to pass his underwear into Thor’s hand. “You’re welcome, Daddy.”

Thor officially walks back the bedroom restriction at dinner because he has learned, “Being a hard-ass doesn’t work with you.” He chuckles. “Your scent ties the room together anyway.”

Wait until he gets it fresh from the source.

## <3

_Congratulations. You get to eat whatever you want. South Korean clients. This should be fun._

As Thor impresses his clients with his muscles’ alcohol-immunizing abilities, a mint chocolate cake Loki gets from the bakery a light walk away keeps Loki company at the dinner table. All evidence of this vast indiscretion goes in the back of the bottom drawer of the fridge where Thor won’t look when he blindly grabs out ingredients for breakfast, that is if he doesn’t accidentally kill himself from alcohol poisoning after being cheered on to down another bottle of 40 proof liquor. This is the man who did eggnog-laced vodka shots in the kitchen that single time he popped in for the Winter holidays when Loki was 9.

Didn’t Loki think that was the funniest thing of all time? Stood there hugging the doorframe giggling with a smile hesitating its way onto Thor’s shining lips. “Drinking is bad,” Thor said, walking over to Loki to drop into a squat in front of him, hair at his shoulders then. “Don’t drink until you’re older. 16. 16 is good. Don’t drink until you’re 16, or you’ll turn into Laufey. You don’t want to turn into Laufey, do you?” No had been the clear answer. Thor loved those shoulder squeezes, didn’t he?  

Loki’ll blame “nostalgia, Daddy” for his sleep relocation. Thor hasn’t changed his sheets the stiffer, lighter spots reveal. That’s disgusting but tremendously hot. The housekeeper comes by on weekends to, but if it were Loki and someone he didn’t want to, say, fuck came all over his sheets, he’d have changed it ASAP. Since Thor clearly appreciates Loki’s additions to his bedding, Loki leaves that side of the bed open for him.

“Loki.”

The last of his dream — and it was a good dream Loki knows that — vanishes with the hand that clamps around his shoulder. That hand slides down to his elbow, and the bed sinks behind him, muttering, Thor muttering while kicks his shoes off from the sound of it. “Loki” again breaks through the mutters, an upward slant to it that Loki turns his head around at, hoping that the skeptical expression on his face makes it through the few particles of light to Thor.

Thor finally drops down from his kneel, bringing with him a gust of his airy, woody spice tainted sharp. He’s chuckling to himself his vibrating chest against Loki’s back informs Loki before his mouth at Loki’s ear does. “My pretty, pretty little omega.”

The jab in Loki’s ass is not from Thor’s arm. 

It’s safe to say Thor did some drinking tonight, but he made it here without shattering any of the vases in the halls and he can articulate, so he’s at say conscious decision-making status.

“I had the best orgasm this morning with your underwear jammed in my mouth.” Thor sighs longingly and rubs a hand on Loki’s outer thigh; Loki is firmly aroused. “They were still a bit damp from last night. You must’ve fucked yourself good. Used one of those cockrings, maybe the toy with the thing on the end that’s supposed to find the G-spot. I could do that with a few fingers. Don’t need a toy to do that.”

Loki sends all of his love to those Korean businessmen. “Oh. Could you?”

“Yeah,” says Thor, confused about Loki’s surprise. “It’s not that hard.” Isn’t it? “You go like this.” This being sliding a rough, immense hand around Loki’s thigh and a nuclear explosion of sensation detonates at the grazing of the slide of it against that sweet spot at the base of Loki’s cock. Thor’s fingers part the outer lips, and on the inner ones, they evoke a clench that the tip of Thor’s fingers, large, large things, find firsthand slipping in. “Then, when you’re here, you bend your fingers and do this.”

Thor presses into _that_ spot that has him overflowing him with that odd pleasure-panic of perpetually needing to piss yet wanting to more than anything else. “Daddy…”

“I knew your pussy would like that.” Thor goes deep — too deep. He apologizes when Loki flinches away. “Sorry. Sorry. Not a fan of having your cervix touched.”

“Not if you want to live.”

“Okay, okay.” Thor’s lips are warm and spit-slick on Loki’s neck. “No touching.“

“Some touching. There.” There, the deep space Loki has to put both legs behind his head or get on all fours with his ass in the air to reach. It literally takes Loki’s breath away, but when he regains it, he has to say, “Daddy, if you don’t stop, I’m going to cum.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

He can’t stop panting for the life of him, and he can’t manage the frustration of being silenced by himself because he doesn’t have the emotional bandwidth. “But, Daddy,” he says, more of an exhale, but Thor’s fingers slow. “Daddy, I want you to… be inside me.”

Thor’s fingers slip out with a sting. “You know I can’t do that.”

The sudden seriousness of Thor’s tone along with him shifting around — to get up? — suggest that may have backfired badly. Fuck.

“But, Daddy,” he says, successfully grabbing Thor’s wrist.

Thor lets himself be stopped because Thor, deep-down, wants what Loki wants, and the dozen stiff drinks he’s had have unearthed that. He’s grabbing Loki’s wrist now, both of them, and as he presses them onto the pillow above Loki, he presses himself over Loki, one single shape that eclipses all the light and casts Loki in that scent that is like fingertips ghosting over his bare skin.

Thor pops his pants button, undoes the zipper, and Loki’s pussy salivates. Thor’s cock has its own strong gravitational pull that negates any need for light for Loki to seek it out to finally touch it between his thighs. If the silky softness like his own doesn’t confirm, that low rumble of Thor’s does.

“Fuck me,” Loki says. Desperate times, desperate measures and all, he tacks on, “Please?”

The anticipation that winds him tight when Thor parts his legs falls away at the first touch of Thor’s cock against his. It’s smothering his. Thor’s smothering him. He shoves his cock over Loki’s, grinding it so hard that it should hurt. Does it? Loki can barely breathe, can’t feel anything but his cock and the run-off areas Thor’s brush against on his stomach, the unbreakable hold around his wrists, the absolute defenselessness and the comfort that has him conflicted over whether he wants to cum — oh, does he want to cum — or if he wants Thor to draw this out for an eternity if only for a reason to stay like this.

“Cum for me, Loki.”

All the muscle fibers in his body clench in a joint effort to do just that.

They might be the only reason that all one ton of titanium Thor doesn’t crush him whole when Thor puts his all into that last, now for Loki’s cock definitely painful, thrust of his. His swollen knot also poses a threat of more stimulation that Loki does not need anywhere below the nipples. Good thing Thor settles into corpse style. Bad thing is that he’s asleep. On top of Loki.

Loki leans his head back away from the garrote of Thor’s shoulder to properly inhale. His wrists are now free for him to move his arms from above his head and better, to limbo himself out from underneath Thor. Should he stay?

Better judgment escorts him back across the hall. Not because he’s done any wrong, no. He hasn’t. Remember, this all Thor’s fault. And Thor was coherent. He was the one who touched Loki first. Loki might have been in the bed, but he didn’t know that Thor would be that… amenable. Did he hope? He couldn’t be blamed if he did after these months of suffering.

Loki drifts off in his bed with the strangest pit in his gut.

## <3

“Remind me to not drink for a while,” Thor says after the good morning that sets Loki on knife’s edge. Thor has an obnoxious slurp of his coffee to follow that up. “It turns out that high tolerance is more of a blessing than a course. I couldn’t even tell you how many shots I took last night. After the twentieth—“

“Twentieth?”

“I think twenty-first actually. After that, my brain gave up on memorizing.” Of course it did because that is Loki’s luck. His first time having sex — and it was sex — would be an experience only he remembers. “Everything picks back up again this morning. I at least know for sure that I took a piss. Haven’t found the puddle yet but I’m assuming it ended up in a toilet which is more important than me forgetting to put my dick back into my pants.”

“Hm,” Loki replies. “Well. You woke me up last night. You—“ He pauses to stare at his blurry reflection in the silverware in the drawer. “—were loud. I came to help you into bed, but you had to go to the bathroom, so I had to wait for you to do that. You came out — with your cock out — and—“

“And?” Thor asks, intensely curious or rather cautious.

“—I told you that you should’ve warned me not to drink that one time when I was nine — I don’t know if you remember it —“

“Yeah.”

“—by saying that if you drink, you’ll think that walking around with your dick out is a good decision to make.”

Thor has a single laugh for that. “And then what happened?”

“I convinced you to lie down with me and kept you distracted by telling you about my very exciting organic chemistry class until you fell asleep.”

“Thought your scent smelled a little fresh,” Thor says, and he bestows one shoulder squeeze onto Loki. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

In Thor’s own words, Loki is “his pretty, pretty omega,” so it’s Loki’s duty. Thor burdened with inhibitions may not recognize what that means, but Loki will have Thor fuck him again, and the next time, Thor will remember it.  

## <3

Thor informs him as he’s shrugging out of his suit jacket that he’s gotten that movie _Bølgen_ , _The Wave_ , that’s managed the impossible in having both their interest because Thor’s a brainless action movie-type — to the surprise of no one — and Loki likes his movies with more substance than explosions and punching. London, of course, has zero showings outside of some movie festival that happened four months ago, but leave it to Thor to not let that stop him.

“We’ll watch it after I get back from the gym.”

Sounds good to Loki. That in mind, Loki migrates to Thor’s bedroom after Thor’s left. Thor has a TV in there hidden above his fireplace, that sitting area with a couch, and Thor’ll be so tired. Loki’s saving him an extra trip up the stairs after it’s over.

He’s on the couch, legs comfortable in knee highs on the back and arm, reading through an Organic Chemistry assignment, when Thor opens the door.

Sweat’s reaction to Thor’s skin is to glitter. Every muscle in his arms wants to make sure you see it in its full, flexed glory, underneath his glittering skin, divine. Don’t forget about the peek of pec either. Loki’s hands reflexively close around his tablet imagining wringing the testosterone out of them.

“You said we’d watch after you came back from the gym,” Loki answers to the question Thor’s sweat-glazed eyebrows gather together to ask.  

“I can’t even say I’m surprised. Give me a chance to shower.” Thor turns to drop his gym bag the bureau, letting Loki succumb to that scent that’s crept into his nose to tempt him to inhale.

Musk drizzled in honey and rainwater and sex, lots and lots of sex.

Loki opens his eyes — he closed them? — and offers a caught smile to Thor. “In my defense, I rarely get to smell you _after_ you’ve come back from the gym.”

“No, you smell me a few hours after when you go through my laundry,” Thor has the nerve to say, stripping off his singlet to add insult to injury. Outrage is hard to pull-off when fending off awe.

“Unlike you, I don’t go ‘through’ your laundry,” Loki replies. “I — and there’s absolutely no proof that I do; that is if I did, which I don’t — go on your laundry, literally right off the top. And I was open with the fact that I like your scent.”

“Did I say I had a problem with it?” Thor doesn’t shut the bathroom door all the way behind him though Loki does not give into temptation, particularly when it’d prove the prevailing theory Thor has that Loki’s some sort of creep, and just take a look as easy as it’d be. 

He busies himself and his eyes preparing the movie.

“Do you need my password?” Thor’s… Thor’s an Adonis belt, a third of it, and the outer edge of his thigh, the whole of his arm, most of his head peeking around the bathroom door. His hair’s clumped into these almost light brown vague waves and gives his face this unhinged look that Loki would be glad to respond to with submissive hands and an, “I’m all yours to do as you please,” but instead swallows the mouthful of spit and says no, he doesn’t.

Loki gives Thor, who is still stood there for some reason, a confused look.

“But you need my password to get into my laptop.”

“Hm. I did, but I figured it out.” 

Oh, right, that is something that people are shocked by.

“Calm down. I’ve known for weeks. I’ve seen you type it in. I just love watching your hands—“ Loki shuts himself up.

Thor’s other hand makes an appearance in the towel drying his hair. “I’ll be out in a second.”

Thor kills all of the lights except for the lamp on his side of the bed, so his shirtless chest receives the attention it deserves from Loki as Thor tends to his nighttime routine which is strangely normal, glass of water on the nightstand, setting his alarm clock, putting his phone on the charger. Thor’s normal is still fucking stupidly sexy.

His solution to Loki’s monopoly of the couch? Not to tell him to move but to reenact that night last week on Loki’s ankles, moving Loki’s legs just enough to put himself down on the couch and after he’s accomplished that, dropping them into his lap.

On the basis that asking was the polite choice, Loki returns the impoliteness by rearranging his legs exactly as they were, one across Thor’s thighs and the other at Thor’s shoulders. Thor replies with relaxing himself, which includes an arm over the back of the couch and oh, a hand on Loki’s knee that isn’t a stun to the cock at all.

“If this sucks, I might fall asleep,” Thor tells him. “Just a warning.”

“Don’t jinx it.” He pouts at Thor but after Thor squeezes his knee, settles in or rather halfway onto Thor.

Loki’s missed the Nordic Noir color palette, and the jolt all of the blues and grays give Thor’s eyes vindicate it as more than Nordic elitism. He is, no doubt about that. The predictability of how the plot shapes out while remaining somewhat compelling is not a feature of movies in the Anglosphere. He tells Thor that, that if this movie had been made by a Brit, Thor’d already be snoozing, yet here Thor is, growing progressively more pissed by the usual “character warns everyone, everyone ignores him” plot point.

“I’d have had the entire town evacuated as soon as those machines started beeping,” Thor says. “What are they? Swedish?”

“Hey. Alexander Skarsgård would have convinced them easily with his stunning smolder.”

“Before getting blown away by a slight breeze.”

“Don’t talk trash about my husband—“

“Your husband?”

“—who actually has gotten very built for that _Tarzan_ movie. Not nearly as big as you,” he says, eyes roaming of both his and their own accord over Thor’s chest, “but he’s got lots of muscle.”

“Anyone has lots of muscle compared to you.” Thor pinches his thigh. “I thought you had taste, Lo. Alexander Skarsgård. You need to tighten your criteria for ‘big, blonde men.’”

“Don’t worry, Daddy. You’re the biggest, blondest of them of all.”

Thor mockingly kisses his shin.

After it all goes to shit, Thor’s interest exponentially decays as do his comments, the last of them being, “For such a weak-looking guy, I have to say he’s got a lot of heart.” It rumbles within Thor’s chest through his shoulders at the tail-end of his vocal range where his exhausted mind’s grip on his voice has fallen. As the movie cobbles together some feel-good family story in the midst of all the destruction, the rise and fall of Thor’s chest slows.

Thor did warn him he wouldn’t last the entire movie if it sucked.

The end credits fall on the screen as Loki rides the climb of his adrenaline levels.

Being next to sleeping — and sober — Thor is what it must be like being next to a sleeping polar bear for the heart.

Loki brushes his toe tips over the back of Thor’s neck. Thor stirs none. To be sure it’s not a fluke he adds pressure this time, but Thor responds the same: not at all. Loki leans forward to poke his chin. No response. A gentle nipple pinch — also no response.

Thor’s denialist attitude toward this would mean that he’d likely be less than thrilled about seeing Loki diddle himself, but what would he do if Loki genuinely thought that Thor was asleep and he’d gotten so comfortable that he’d taken the risk and slipped a hand into his briefs?

The first touch of his dick makes him bite blood out the tip of his tongue with the added thrill of Thor, sleeping, yes, but Thor providing the scent and the muscle and the warmth, the sexiness all fresh. If Thor were to open his eyes — Loki presses two fingers into himself, holding his cock around the base to stop the shocked orgasm. A sound sneaks out of him, but opening an eye confirms Thor’s as dead to the world as ever.

He sits up to get his shorts off and when he lies back down, has an easier angle to thrust his fingers inside, the generosity of his pussy with sloppying them up and how obvious that it’s because of Thor just getting him wetter and wetter. Three fingers twisting and curling up to get that spot that winds the pressure behind his cock tighter, his heels can’t help but dig down to discharge some of that energy inside of him. “Daddy” is out of his mouth before he can think about shutting it in, and again, “Daddy.” His ass meets wet when it meets the couch again.

He looks down. There is in fact a dark gray stain under his ass. Does pussy juice come out velour better than silk?

“Loki, what—?”

Thor’s eyes are tired but they are definitely open. And on Loki’s pussy.

His cheeks light on fire out of instinct because here he is caught, utterly exposed, and… he wanted nothing more. “Isn’t it prettier in person, Daddy?”

Thor thinks about getting up Loki knows. He thinks about chastising Loki about these flimsy rules of his and about how wrong it is for him to watch his son masturbate like he’s fantasized about dozens of times. But then Thor thinks about how nice the pressure of Loki’s heel is on his rock hard cock and only thinks about that.

Loki slips out his fingers to hold apart his inner lips, grinding his heel. “Look at how wet I am for you.”

Thor grabs his ankle hard, stilling his foot.

He’s descending on Loki.

Loki wraps his arms around Thor’s neck and leans up.

Loki’s kissed. Loki can kiss. Thor doesn’t expect Loki can though, all tender and restrained like he fears if his tongue roams too far beyond the insides of Loki’s lips the whole of Loki will shatter. It might be vice versa, no, if Thor puts two and two together that Loki’s not the inexperienced little angel he thinks Loki is. Sure, Loki’s never had someone mostly naked against his mostly naked body, but Loki can flick his tongue here and there, Thor taking this as experimenting and feeling the need to preview how Thor, in his infinite experience, feels tongue should be done. Loki can’t say he doesn’t agree with Thor’s feeling. He does. Enthusiastically.

Thor kisses his chin, down his jaw, his neck. He teaches Loki’s nipples what teeth feel like, a type of good so good because of it being on the brink of bad. That is the story of his stubble clawing down Loki’s stomach around Thor’s tongue, and what a sad one it almost is when that impossibly soft and impossibly wet and impossibly warm suction closes around the head of his cock.

Thor takes mercy on him with a pop and a grip at Loki’s pubic bone that tempts Loki to writhe a little to test it for friction, but Thor’s got him pinned with his sleepy-seeming stare straight out of a thousand wet waking dreams. He kisses Loki’s thigh. “Tell me what you want.”

It worked last time, so Loki says, embracing the mortification, “I want you to fuck me.”

Thor isn’t on board with that. “What else do you want?” he asks. “And don’t say my dick.”

“But—“

“Loki.”

He sighs. “You at least have to give me your fingers.”

“That was the plan.” Thor rubs his knuckles down the middle to Loki’s taint. Sober, he’s chosen one finger to start off instead of going all-in with the two again, spreading Loki’s juice all over his lips.

If Loki concentrated hard enough he could feel the upraised edges of Thor’s fingerprints. “Do you feel how wet I am, Daddy?”

“Fuck, I do, baby. I do.” _Baby_. He focuses on his finger like the sight of it entering Loki mesmerizes him. Muscle memory guides him to Loki’s g-spot effortlessly. He knows not to try his luck, so he pulls out and gets to adding another.  

Two of Thor’s fingers convert to three of Loki’s. Three? Four is Loki’s record. Four is a bloom of the easily-mistaken-for-pain pressure deep in his gut and an overwhelmed trickle from his dick. “Your fingers are so big.”

“They are when you’ve only ever had yours. Right, baby? No one’s ever done this to you before?”

That note of sincerity in Thor’s voice gets him humming as if he never heard that at all.

Thor’s fingers strike the deep spot. Loki catches his wrist between his soles as he remembers the road kill fox he saw yesterday and that girl in his chemistry lecture’s horrid dandruff.

“Your fault for starting without me,” Thor says.

The breath on his cock opens his eyes just in time to witness it slip into Thor’s mouth.

That is an awful sound that comes from his own.

Thor releases his cock, leaving behind his saliva that slicks up his lips when he runs them over it, the pressure barely there and its own brand of torture.

“I bet they didn’t make you feel this good. I know your body. I know what you want. I know what you need,” Thor’s saying. His tongue swipes over Loki’s pussy. He sucks him down again.

“Daddy.” He gives into it, the pressure between his hips, and buries his face into the pillows as Thor’s mouth and fingers get all it can out of him, melting his knees and petrifying every muscle fiber in his body. Hot tears have beaded at the corners of his eyes when Thor finally gets his mouth off of Loki. 

A “Loki” that’s like nothing Loki has ever heard before resonates through Thor’s back and into Loki’s heels and calves where they dangle over it.

Thor pants are on the off-beats of Loki’s. He leaves from between Loki’s legs, settling on his knees, and slowly withdraws his fingers from Loki. He looks them, coated in Loki’s cream, over, and proceeds to bring them to his swollen lips and suck them clean.

Loki catalogues that for future use.

There are tissues passed from Thor to Loki and for Thor, some maneuvering out of his now cum-plastered boxers that gives Loki a glimpse of the dark blond curls above Thor’s cock. Thor turns off the TV and sleepily watches Loki wipe the cum that’s wedged between his chest and t-shirt, looking as though he wants to say something but has nothing to.

This is where Loki gets awkwardly gestured toward the door, isn’t it?

He’ll save Thor the energy.

An arm catches around his waist when he tries to pass Thor. Thor tugs him to him, and Loki waits for it, the remorse.

Loki’s arm is pulled over Thor’s shoulder. When the ground drops away, that arm becomes his anchor for him to catch himself around Thor, and that is just as Thor intended. He rests his head in the cradle of Thor’s clavicle. He only moves from it to peek at Thor after Thor’s reached over to turn the lamp off, not sure of eye contact in the darkness but positive that it happens.

“Night, Loki.”

Loki finds himself gently smiling. “Night, Thor.”

Despite his greatest efforts to appreciate this for what it is and what it may never be again, Loki sleeps.

## <3

Thor’s alarm annoys him awake.

He reaches up to shut it up and despite the arms around him, by sheer arm length manages to.

They’re Thor’s as is the cock burning an imprint of itself onto Loki’s thigh.

Loki’s morning duo — wood and dew — feels inspired.

He rewarms his cheek on Thor’s pec and swirls his finger around Thor’s nipple until it pebbles. His spine tingles when knuckles rub down it. He breaks the silence to say, “I have something that will make your morning.”

“Do you?” Thor asks, so grumbly.

“Yes. We’re going to spend the day here. I’ll not go to lecture, and you’ll take an early weekend.”

Thor’s thumb creeps up into his periphery. It rubs his cheek. The overflow of the smile he’s trying to hold in is betraying him. “I was going to tell you, you were gorgeous, but I realized how narcissistic that is.”

“Well, I think I’m very sexy too.”

“Glad to see we’re on the same page. How are you feeling? That wasn’t the gentlest for your first time getting touched like that.”

Why should Thor have that, the credit for the first to finger-fuck and suck Loki off? Truly, the man not six months ago couldn’t be arsed to fix his thumbs for a “How are you? Hopefully still alive?” text without some unseen prodding by Grandma to see how Loki was coincidentally after her mentioning to Loki that Thor would most definitely be contact him in the near future. Thor is trying. He knows that. But where was this trying when Mother’s new boyfriend was doing to Loki’s arm what Thor is, asking him if he’d “fucked his way through his school’s faculty already” with the smuggest of smiles?   

Loki stares at Thor’s nipple before removing himself from Thor’s chest, poker facing the ceiling. “Hm, I’m fine.”

“Someone’s… touched you,” Thor says. The sheer disappointment of a missed virgin to notch his bedpost with gets him up. “I thought you were inexperienced in that department. You are 15.”

The morning light catches on Thor’s cock because that’s what that enormous thing sprouting above Thor’s equally yoked balls — Thor’s cock. Objects like that do not feel bigger than they are. They are that big.

“…someone you left behind in Norway?” Thor’s talking. Yes, Loki’s prior experience. That’s why Thor’s squinting at him. He flashes some pristine bum to window-gaze. “I’m guessing it was someone around your age?”

“You remember what other people my age are like. You went for the 28 year old for a reason.”

“Because I was a moron.” Thor’s arm muscles heave in unison against his skin with the clenching of his fist. The poor things look so upset that Loki has a duty with this window of opportunity, however long it may last, to go comfort them with his hands. Thor could bench press a 747 Loki is convinced or 747 Lokis. He could stand to look more appreciative of the service Loki provides, but his ego feels cheated. “So. I just showed you how much better it could be then?”

Considering that guy Svaðilfari from the athletic club grinding on his ass in the fencing armory and jerking him off in his ridiculous sports car to “get him ready” for the what Loki suddenly had to go home to never figure out made up “it” before last night and that other night, Loki saying, “I guess you could say that,” is such an understatement that is borders on a lie.

“I need to get ready for work,” says Thor.

In the gentle jiggle of Thor’s ass, all the pieces fall into place.

He draws some blood out of his gums in the dash to brush his teeth.

In Thor’s bathroom, the floor’s… heated. Of course Thor has heated floors. But he dashes across it anyway before Thor catches him. He gently opens the door and Thor’s illuminating ass and his flexing shoulders as he smoothes his wet hair are what greets him in the steam. 

“Last night was better than my other experiences.”

“Fucking hell,” Thor says, turning around. “What the hell, Loki? You scared the shit out of me. You know why? Because you’re supposed to—“ He shuts himself up. “Was it? You didn’t seem too sure about that five minutes ago.”

“I mean, I was,” he replies.

Thor doesn’t see the humor in that.

“What? I like it when you’re possessive—”

“Protective.”

“Same difference. You felt how wet it gets me. That time in the restaurant when you punched that guy, you could’ve drowned in my underwear.” Loki’s fingers slip and slide over the contours of Thor’s pecs. Water’s beading on his eyelashes, which surely adds a vulnerable zest to his innocent expression.

Thor stares down at him. Put-off would be the first assumption, but no, this, Thor’s eyes pinched just a hint at the corners, lips too, this is not put-off. It’s the look that comes before Loki’s taken out of his skin. A drop of water detaches from the tip of Thor’s nose. “I… might’ve smelled it.”

“Good.” Loki puts his arms around Thor’s neck. “I like that.”

“I like that you like that,” Thor tells Loki’s lips. His move like they’ve something to prove, and they do in Thor’s mind, don’t they? Hands feeling up Loki’s ass cheeks are an improvement over last minute arrivals at piano recitals, so if Thor wants to prove himself in this arena, as far as Thor’s aware, last night was the first night that his fingers ever crossed Loki’s threshold.

Loki breaks away from Thor’s lips to his pec. “Wash my back?”

Thor’s refusal to let Loki help him with his hard-on is why Thor’s late, not Loki luring Thor into jerking him off against the shower wall.

## <3

Thor will fuck his fingers — or a vibrator — into Loki and jerk Loki’s dick and even puts a finger into his ass when Loki asks, but the moment Loki thinks about returning the favor Thor loses his mind.

Losing his mind implies some explosive reaction, which save for when Loki tries — and fails — to put a hand into Thor’s boxers for an early-morning handjob and Thor gets out the wrong side of the bed, doesn’t happen, because Thor prefers to snatch Loki’s hand away from the vicinity of Thor’s poor, neglected dick by the wrist or hair during Loki’s aborted attempt to go all in and blow him — he’s been training his gag reflex with the ‘Thor’ vibrator — or to say, “No,” and resume sucking bruises into Loki’s shoulders now that having to go to class puts Loki’s neck off-limits while he jerks himself off, never gracing Loki with any cum except accidentally which is always followed by apologies.

Loki briefly contemplates asking his biology professor what the fuck is the evolutionary strategy behind an alpha being stingy with his cock. Because if Loki were in Thor’s skin, his tanned, fine-blonde-hair-garnished skin, Loki would lay back and let the enthusiastic omega gift him all his holes. It should be instinctual.

“Daddy, show me your cock.”

They’re in Thor’s office after Loki’s last class of the day which Thor left work to whisk him home from, as good an opportunity as any to surprise Loki with an extra special touch of his cock, but no. Thor has to be selfish.

Thor examines Loki face for any traces of joking, but finding none, sighs, like this is some great labor, and undoes his pants. He shoves a hand into the fly of his boxers and it unleashes Thor’s flagging cock, absurdly big framed by his boxers and trousers. Amazingly. “You look like it’s the first time you’ve seen it every time.”

“Unlike you, I haven’t had like 20 years to appreciate it in its entirety.” Loki rubs his toes on Thor’s knee, wearing these Arsenal knee-highs Thor congratulated him for lasting a whopping week in school with. “Is it heavy?”

“What do you mean ‘is it heavy’?”

“It looks heavy.”

“No, Loki, it’s not heavy. It’s my dick. You have one. Is yours heavy?”

“Is mine as enormous as yours? No.” Loki slips from the edge of the desk to the arm of Thor’s chair. “I can’t wait for you shove it balls-deep into my pussy, Daddy.”

“Don’t say that.”

“What? It’s what I want.”

“You don’t know what you want.” Thor drags a hand over his face. Poor Big Dick Daddy. “You’re 15, Loki. You’re 15. Fuck.”

Fucking morals. They have a tendency of rearing their annoying head at the most inopportune moments in Loki’s life, don’t they?

“Daddy, hey, I’m a way more mature 15 than you were. I’m more like 20 year old you. You know, the one who actually showed up on-time to my fifth birthday and then backed Laufey against a wall and threatened to — what was it? — ‘feed him his balls’ — yeah — if he ever laid another finger on me?” His hand falls to Thor’s knee. “No, you weren’t the best Daddy, but you’ve been making it up to me.” Up the inside of Thor’s thigh. “You’re going to make it up to me so good, aren’t you, Daddy?”

Thor’s thigh doesn’t unflex.

“You should think of it as poetic, letting me touch the dick that gave me life. It’ll be like I’m thanking it.”

“Please, stop talking any second now.”

“Is it because of Mom? Because that’s 15 years removed. I’m sure there have been hundreds, if not thousands, of people between her and me.”

“And that’s supposed to convince me? All I’m hearing over and over is that you’re my son. If someone found out what I’ve done to you, my life would be over.” 

“Because it’s fucked to want to fuck the person you raised from birth. There are preprogrammed fail safes in the brain for that. If you fuck your kid, there’s something fundamentally wrong with you.”

Thor blinks. He starts putting his dick away.

“But you didn’t raise me from birth. You barely raised me at all,” Loki says. “Thanos would qualify as more of a father than you. He stayed up until four am helping me with my science fair project last year. Of course, he did it because he wanted to manipulate me into baring my soul to him, but…”

Loki shrugs. “In the realm of ‘fucked-up,’ is fingering me to a million orgasms that different than — I don’t know — feeding me your cum? Honestly, could you really claim the moral high ground because you used your fingers instead of your dick?”

Thor’s thinking. He’s thinking about how correct Loki is and how much time he’s wasted not letting Loki touch his dick. That turns out to not be enough since he gets up and goes over to his trusty armchair to sit as if Loki can’t follow him.

In one last ditch effort, Loki says, “You know it won’t be the first dick I’ve ever touched.”

Loki lands on Thor’s lap, one of Thor’s arms tethering him close around the waist as his other hand effortlessly drags Loki’s pants down to his knees, filling Loki’s pussy lips and cock to their fullest with blood. Thor gets his own cock back out. Is he… is he really going to fuck him? Is this finally fucking happening?

“Touch my cock,” Thor tells him, and in a push of a stretching ache, Thor’s fingers are stuffing him.

Loki’s surprised his palm doesn’t singe how hot Thor’s cock is. His hand has never looked smaller. It’s almost a shock that Thor’s massive cock reacts to him, allowing Loki to tug his painfully-tight-looking foreskin back from the head, the angriest pink that Loki has ever seen. All of those veins relenting inside of Loki’s fist but popping back up once they’re to free again, and when they’re pressed to his palm, protesting just a little with these minute beats that all add up to one big heartbeat as if Thor’s cock is being of its own.

He turns around and staring in the shiny bead at the eye of Thor’s cock, he aligns his puckering lips above and lets that mouthful of spit trickle down, reaching toward Thor’s cockhead. It lands and catches the rest in a shiny, bubbly glob. A strand from Loki’s mouth connecting it to Thor’s cock. Thor meets his eyes, dazed. The strand breaks and Loki’s spit overflows down onto Thor’s cock, spreading so syrupy in Loki’s fist, and Loki asks, “Does that feel good, Daddy?”

That precum erupts in a slow stream, getting Thor’s cock nice and slick. Loki’s pussy responds in kind, chasing after Thor’s removed fingers with pussy juice, and Thor rubs it all over Loki’s pussy lips and on that sensitive spot at the top of them and base of his cock. Loki skims his thumb on the inside of Thor’s dick hole. Thor thrusts into his fist. “Wait, Daddy,” Loki tells him, “put your fingers back in. Please.”

Thor obeys up to the first knuckles, the tease as if that’s not Loki’s job.

“Daddy,” Loki asks, tilting his hips to move Thor’s fingers around a little. He rubs the tip of Thor’s cock.

He thrusts his fingers and his cock. His teeth, dulled by Loki’s shirt, bite lightly into his shoulder. He groans, the vibrations slipping down Loki’s spine and adding another drop to that swelling pressure at the tips of Thor’s fingers. How it’ll be with Thor’s cock. It’ll be so good, so good, so good.

This rough warmth’s slides over Loki’s cock, and overflowing, Loki’s cumming with “Daddy” whining out of him. His hand isn’t moving but his palm is, skin shifted each way by Thor’s cock pushing into it and out of it, using it like he will Loki’s pussy, which is exposed to a rush of cool air inside that Loki starts to close his thighs to shut away, but Thor’s pulled his cock out of Loki’s fist, and Loki’s acutely aware of rapid motion under his thighs before a sudden stillness, one punctuated by the “Loki” heard all over the world and a splash of wet-warmth on Loki’s pussy that Loki’s not sure of having even happened until the next and the one after that and so on because Thor keeps cumming for an eternity.

Loki’s laughing. He runs his fingers through Thor’s cum, the thickness of it sending little jolts of sensitivity through him. “Don’t you see why you should listen to me more?”

Loki’s shirt is wet where Thor bit. His skin aches a little.

“You’re a bad influence on me,” Thor says. He kisses Loki’s temple. “Look at the mess we made.”

Loki settles onto Thor’s thigh because Thor’s trousers are ruined anyway. What’s a little more pussy juice and cum? He rubs his buzzing lips against Thor’s, content to let Thor do the sucking and tilting.

It’s a matter of time before Thor fucks him.

## <3

Talking to Grandma, Thor’s mom, is best done in the privacy of a locked bedroom due to the cheesing smile that forces its way onto his mouth every time without fail.

Grandma Frigga disproves the ‘nurture’ argument of parenting. A woman as wholesome and principled as her could not have raised a person who would show up to his son’s tenth birthday party with a baggie of cocaine he accidentally handed to his son along with the birthday card he’d had someone else write because it’d said ‘hugs and kisses’ and Thor always wrote ‘I love you.’ It follows that Thor was born to be the way he is, and Grandma could only try to stave off the damage.

“How is it? Is he treating you nice?”

“Yeah. He’s alright. He feeds me, sometimes picks me up from class, tells me answers to problems I’m in the middle of solving on my homework.”

Grandma giggles. “That sounds like Thor.”

“I could complain, but I won’t.”

Grandma tells him about her mission to Syria, and Loki rubs over the bruise on his thigh that’ll fit Thor’s hand perfectly. She sees the best in everyone, Thor most of all. What would she say? Would she even believe it? She didn’t believe in Loki until Thor came crying to her saying that he’d made a huge mistake. She likely wouldn’t believe it until, hell, Loki showed up pregnant and a paternity test came back positive for Thor.

Unlike Mom, Loki has no incentive to pay off any lab techs for results either. Though the jury is out on whether that was Laufey’s wishful thinking that he wasn’t raising some other man’s kid.

Grandma says that she’ll see him when Thor brings them up for Christmas and that “I always knew Thor would come around to being a father.”

Thor chooses now to bang on the door, shouting for Frigga to not listen to whatever Loki’s told him.

“Thor says that he loves you. I love you too,” Loki tells her.

“What were you saying to my mom?” Thor asks as he jumps onto Loki’s bed. “You weren’t talking too much shit I hope?”

“I talked a reasonable amount of shit,” Loki replies. He leans on his elbow and kicks his legs like Thor likes. “Do you want to blow me?”

Thor pins his chest down, swallows his cock, and finger fucks him in rhythm.

Loki cums so hard he cries a little.

## <3

“Relax your mouth. Yeah, baby. Like that.”

Thor has a Persian rug around his desk that Loki’s knees appreciate. Loki shifts them in a breathless, full-body deep breath before he slides his mouth to the head of Thor’s cock, the ridge of it catching in the inner ring of his lips. He flicks his tongue, tracing over the slit in Thor’s cock.

Thor’s head falls back.

Loki’s hands stroke and wring the cock that his mouth can’t get to. Thor and the “fuck”s and “Loki”s and praise about what a good job he’s doing don’t mind. Thor forgets to not thrust, triggering Loki’s gag reflex and some excess saliva that Loki pulls back to wipe off his mouth along with a glare. Thor’s sorry. Of course Thor and his still diamond hard dick are sorry. But Loki forgives him to the extent of slipping Thor’s cock back into his mouth, gently grazing it with teeth with a hiss from Thor, because Loki wants to swallow — the fantasies always include swallowing — and in order to swallow, Loki needs cum.

Thor gives him a bittersweet mouthful.  

Loki looks up in Thor’s hands stroking his face as he gulps it all down. He’s hauled to his feet and onto the edge of Thor’s desk and jerked dry in Thor’s fist.

“You were perfect,” Thor says. He sits, shaking his head. “Shit, that was stupid.”

“Aw, no, it’s never stupid to pay me a compliment.” Loki succeeds in a relenting sigh from Thor. “Your door has a lock, and Darcy, who is the only person who’d come unannounced is, on the other side of the city having lunch with your secretary. It’s not like everyone doesn’t think you’re already getting blow jobs at lunch every day.”

“Every day? We’re not making this an everyday thing.”

“Why not? I thought you liked my lunch-time booty calls. Which reminds me. I have class in an hour.” Loki slips off Thor’s desk and puts himself back together in the least “recently fucked” arrangement. Loki’s consolidated a reputation for himself as one of those studious, emotionally unavailable wiz kids likely to sky dive from a five story building a decade from now, leaving behind some note about the futility of existence, and that precludes him from getting any whatsoever, particularly from a being that looks like Thor. How the hell he’s pulled that off still puts one of those disbelieving smiles on his face.

“Baby.”

“What?” he asks, turning to Thor.

Thor kisses him.

Loki’s lifted to his toes and promptly gets off them. “You know what traffic is like, Thor.”

“How many times have you made me late?”

“Trick question. The boss can’t be late.” Loki kisses Thor one last time for posterity. “Try not to get distracted daydreaming about my awesome blowjob, Daddy.”  

“You be good.”

## <3

“I’m not fucking you, Loki.”

“What? Why not?”

“You have toys, Loki. It’s the same thing.” Thor squeezes an asscheek and puts on his fatherly friendly face for the friends that’ve arrived in the luxury box to partake in the local London culture as tourists from the faraway land of America.

And American they are. You can smell the Dunning-Kruger effect in action on their lot. Thor does that awful group-introduction thing after he’s gotten in his one-armed hugs and handshakes, with an arm over Loki’s shoulder that he hopes they see for the transparent lie of paternal feelings Thor has never had for him, saying, “Everyone, this is my son Loki; Loki, this is everyone.”

Of everyone, it’s Steve Rogers, blond, Loki’s height so despite the muscle, not big, who feels the need to shake his hand and introduce himself and by extension Bucky — this is not a real name Loki hopes — who’s the man hovering at Steve’s shoulder with two beers. Mates and married going by the faded bites and wedding rings. Steve occupies a position of respect within their friend web, so not soon after he and Bucky have passed, more come for their one-on-one introductions, oblivious or simply not caring that Loki’s more interested in putting food on his plate than their names and life blurbs.

Thor’s the opposite of helpful now that he’s shifting priority to himself and his canoodling time with the boys. Still, Loki uses him as a shield, wedging himself between Thor and the window to eat and watch the match below in peace.

“Looks like Tony’s not gonna be able to make it,” the one James Rhodes comes to tell Thor.

Thor gets a phone call he goes out to the stands — because that makes sense — to take.

“Excuse me,” Loki says to that leather jacket on James Rhodes’ back, and James turns around with the sort of smile one wears for their friends’ children. “Tony Stark, can you tell me more about him and why wouldn’t Thor want him to take me to orientation? Google says that he makes rockets and has been engaged a dozen times, but that goes for a lot of people Thor’s around.”

James laughs. “Tony is—he’s a good guy, don’t get me wrong. A great guy. My brother from another mother. But…”

“Tony Stark isn’t a man to leave boys like you around,” Steve Rogers says with a wry smile. “Sorry, I overheard. Tony Stark’s kind of a dog-whistle for me.”

“Bad history?” Loki asks.

“No. Being a politician in New York where Tony lives means you hear his name going around a lot. Not always in the best context.” Left to deal with Loki by James, Steve crosses his arms. “Thor tells me you want to be a lawyer. That’s great stuff. Not enough omegas in the law. If you ask me, might be a reason it’s got all those problems.”

Steve is the omega. Talk about surprises that shouldn’t be surprises whatsoever.

“I figure with Thor and my age-gap or complete lack of one, I’m never going to get the chance to rule the family corporation, so I’d rather not waste my time in business school when I can find something I want to do and am good at.”

“You’re good at lawyering at… 15?” Steve asks.

“I’m the best liar I know.”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m gonna take that as a joke.” Steve Rogers speaks like every politician but simply with his cheesy American accent. Lots of grand ideas with even grander solutions. It makes perfect sense that Thor counts him among “one of his closest friends.” 

Thor’s sat out in the stands happily chatting with Clint Barton. He asked Loki for plaits at his temples. They give Thor a Viking warrior vibe that may have been Loki’s motivation in asking earlier, “Will you fuck me when we get home?” In retrospect, ill-conceived, but still, worth the try.

Loki asks Steve how his, the American politician, and Thor, the Norwegian, London-based, businessman’s paths crossed.

“We met, what, eight—“

“Nine,” the lurking Bucky says.

“—nine years back. It was a charity thing in New York. I was still working in city hall, but omega rights have been a priority from the beginning. Me and Tony’s mom — one of the nicest women you’ll ever meet — had set-up a benefit. Omega rights in the developing world. She’d invited all the big shots. When Mrs. Maria Stark invites you someplace, you go. But Thor showed up. She’d invited his parents, sure, but not him. I walk up to him, thank him for coming. He looks at me like I have a second head. ‘Why are you thanking me for being somewhere I should?’”

“Would’ve kicked his ass if I were there,” Bucky says.

“He was down in DC. He’s FBI,” Steve tells Loki like he cares. “But I told Thor it was, you know, out of the ordinary for him to be there. This young, extremely wealthy alpha guy. He told me it was a personal issue to him. He wanted to get involved. He didn’t tell me that night, but I’d probably known him a year or so when he said he had a son who was an omega.”

“It’s good to know he wasn’t only snorting coke between his classes in business school back then,” Loki says.

Bucky tries to hide his snicker in his beer, but Steve jabs him with his elbow all the same.

“I won’t stand here and speak on a topic I have no business talking about, but I do know Thor, and one thing for sure is he loves you, kid.”

A goal for Arsenal and Thor’s roaring, fists punching the air. Thor calms and glances back through the window. He pumps his fist again.

Loki rolls his eyes hard.

They’ll see how far that love goes.

## <3

Loki’s walking in from class, none whatsoever disappointed that the car that’d picked him up had been empty save for the driver. Thor has a job, a life that does not revolve around Loki, and it’s better that he’s not here to distract Loki from doing the important work that on second thought he finished during that drab lecture, so he doesn’t really have anything he needs to do.

He’ll find something.

He’s stepping out of his sneakers in the coat closet, and those Oxfords beside them look a lot like the ones Thor wore this morning.

“Loki?”   

Thor did take the day off then.

Thor comes to the doorway, profoundly delectable in gray pinstripes and with the sleeves rolled up like that — Loki wastes no time slipping a hand in the undone half of Thor’s hair and well, trying to kiss him, but Thor’s reeling back.

Is there something Loki’s missing?

“No, no, no. Lo, I just have something to show you,” Thor says, reassuring him as if Loki needs it. He places a hot hand on Loki’s lower back and leads him out the closet. With a “wait,” Thor blinds Loki with one of those hands over his eyes and all of his face above the lower lip how large Thor’s hands are. “It’s a surprise.”

Loki sighs with his shoulders. “Lead the way.”

It’s not a long walk, from the straightness of it simply into the drawing room.

Loki grabs Thor’s wrist, holding it there. “If it’s anyone but Grandma—“

“It’s not a person. I promise.” Thor kisses the top of Loki’s head from the feel it. Hopefully he enjoys the taste of Loki’s shampoo. “I—why don’t I just show you?”

Thor’s hand withdraws.

The Piano. Not a piano because that, this… this is the Imperial Bösendorfer, the Piano, a monument to the usefulness of _some_ humans. Ohlsson called it the “Rolls-Royce of pianos” but the Rolls-Royce is the Imperial of the road. It’s just bragging with this many keys and those bass notes, they’d blacken Loki’s soul if it weren’t already.

“I know you had a baby grand back in Norway.” Thor bought this for him, for Loki. “I couldn’t stand by and let you stop playing.” Thor’s somewhere close behind him. “There was a reason I didn’t fall to sleep at those recitals.”

Loki’s expecting them, the hands on his shoulders, yet his body’s motor functions shut down all the same to focus solely on skyrocketing his heart rate. With that fulfilled, he can turn his head to meet Thor’s eyes, letting the expression on his face do the major lifting. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”

And why? Not to get him on his team to feel more in control of his new household or to stick one to some other father or to shut him up because he’s been dropping hints for weeks like with Mom getting him the baby grand in the first place. Definitely not for sex, not even a blow job because Thor gets plenty of those without any bribes.

“It makes me happy seeing you happy,” Thor says. He sits on the bench beside him. “And I get to live vicariously through you having shit the bed after Grade 6. The nocturnes destroyed me.”

“I learned the nocturnes at 8 years old.”

“Hey, no need to rub it in.” Thor squares his shoulders. “I think I remember up to…”

That might be the hardest dolce Loki has ever heard.

“Um, it’s a lot less annoyed-sounding than that,” Loki says, “but I do know what you’re talking about.”

Thor’s staring through the piano in concentration, lips open a finger, pursed on the side the faintest bit.

Loki’s cheeks ache from smiling.

He covers Thor’s hand with his as Thor starts playing loose tidbits beyond that selection. “Okay. If you forget, know that I will not wait for you, and you’ll be left to catch up. I think you can handle the treble part, right? And um. Thank you.”

Thor looks over at him, and his expression blanks for a moment. He nods. “You’re welcome.”

Chopin would not be all that impressed, but in Thor’s defense, he does manage to look good while screwing up.

## <3

“Daddy, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” Loki tells Thor, pounding his pussy with the vibrator in rhythm to Thor’s hand pumping his fat cock and pounding it deep, as deep as Thor’s fingers reach and his cock would go, legs in the air, held together knees nudging at his cheek bone so Thor can see his cock and pussy just ooze over his ass and onto the bed, Thor’s bed of course.

“I’m gonna cum so deep in you, baby. Come on, baby. Cum for me.”

His head throws itself back into the bed for leverage as his body empties itself of all the cum and brain cells he has. Brainlessly, he fumbles himself to sitting in time for the geysers of white pouring out of Thor’s cock above the camera frame, landing with these thick, muffled sounds on Thor’s chest and the bed and even on the edge of Thor’s laptop.

“Wow, Daddy, you really miss me.”

Thor’s breathing through his teeth, muscles flexing and flexing more as he pants. He chuckles. “I told you I was saving it for you. I know you like my loads to be big.”

“Your loads are big even when you don’t save them,” Loki replies, “but it’s the thought that counts.”

“Mm, I wish you were here with me.” Thor pulls off sentimental exceptionally well with the help of jet lag. Because Darcy’s Instagram and the pictures of Thor bumping pints of beer with the Mayor of Berlin say otherwise. Thor pretends that he didn’t schedule this meeting during the leftovers of Oktoberfest on purpose — “Darcy handles my schedule. Blame her” — which is as bullshit as him saying that he’d have taken Loki if he didn’t have class. “You don’t like beer. I could trust you not to go off and get drunk. Besides, Darcy would be here.”

“You mean to help me scout some big German sausage? Yeah, that could’ve been great.”

“What? I’m not satisfying you enough, Lo?” Thor sarcastically asks.

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t know.” Loki’s moved onto his stomach and leans on the heels of his hands, pouting. “It’s not like you’ll give me yours.”

That’s not what Thor wants to hear. “How many times are we going to have this conversation?”

“As long as it takes for you to fuck me. Seriously, Thor. I’m at a loss for reasons why you haven’t knotted the ever-living shit out of me.”

Thor has prayer hands to his mouth and leans his forehead on his fingertips. He looks off-camera. “Because, Loki, it’s my line.”   

“Your line? I thought you were over trying to rationalize that one fucked-up thing was different than the other.”

“Fingering you, sucking you off, that’s nowhere in the realm of fucking you. I don’t expect you to understand. You never fucked anyone—“

“That you know of.”

Thor stares Loki in the eye. “You… you lied to me.”

“I told you what you needed to hear,” Loki says. At that moment, it was the truth. At this one, it’s not the truth. “You were talking to me like Thanos, trying to guard my sexuality like it’s another possession of yours to do what you pleased with.”

Thor’s eyes pinch. “Thanos didn’t—“

“No, it wasn’t Thanos.” Loki crosses his arms. “It was you.”

Thor turns Loki’s non-shade. “What?”

“That night you had dinner with the South Koreans, I was sleeping your bed because I missed you, and you came in—“

“—wasted out of my fucking mind.”

“But you weren’t. You were astonishingly coherent. You told me that you’d jerked off earlier with my underwear in your mouth and that you’d noticed how wet I’d been because of that g-spot toy you bought me, and you offered to show me you didn’t need a toy to find it, and—Thor, listen—“

“No. You lied to me. You told me—“ Thor’s hands hide his face. “You should’ve told me.”

“When you didn’t remember, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to regret it. It was good for me.” He gift-wraps that lie with the truth with, “You’ve retroactively ruined so many moments for me that I wasn’t going to let you ruin that one.”

“And I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for what I did—“

“Don’t be.”

“But I am. I am, and I will be. This just reinforces my decision to never cross that line. Again. From now on, I’m not fucking you.”

“Why not? Am I not as good enough as whoever you were going out at night to fuck? Come on, Thor. Don’t pretend that sex is some sacred act for you when we both know that you’ve been giving it away freely since you were my age.”

A blur and the screen goes black, call ended.

Wow, that is a soft spot for Thor? Loki pointing out the obvious?

Is it not him that said during a phone call after Loki was suspended for some stupid thing, “Lying is bad, Loki. Don’t lie”? Would he have preferred Loki to do that; “oh, no, Thor, you’re a real Virgin Mary who puts lots of emotional stake in sex.”

Fuck off.

Loki calls Thor from his phone.

Thor answers.

“Did you just hang up on me?” Loki shakes his head. “They weren’t lying when they said the age you have your first child at is the age you’re stuck at forever, were they?”

“How can you sit there and pretend like me fucking some random guy”—equal opportunity Thor—“is the same as me fucking you? Are you serious? I don’t even remember a single one of their names, Loki. I’m never going to see any of them again. Maybe I have. It’s not like I’ll recognize any of them.”

“You didn’t even know you fucked me until a few minutes ago. Clearly, there’s not that big of a difference between me and a random trick.”

“I was blackout drunk. There’s no comparison. This is why I stopped getting wasted.”

“It’s not the alcohol’s fault that you’re a coward.”

“I’m a coward? For not wanting to fuck my 15 year old son?”

“If by ‘not wanting’ you mean ‘being afraid’ then yes, that is true.”

“Loki, I’m tired. I’m done having this conversation with you. This is the last time we’re talking about this as far as I’m concerned. Have a good day tomorrow in class. I’ll see you when I get back.”

“But—“

Call ended.

## <3

Loki greets Thor with, “Welcome back, Daddy,” and a hug.

Thor is shocked. Thor expects Loki to have an attitude or to have held that little situation against him, but Loki’s showing Thor that he is a forgiving person to those who are simply… emotionally congested. That is what Thor is, emotionally congested. Just as he was initially regarding any sort of non-fatherly physical fun. Fucking is simply the last hurdle, one Loki will help him over.

Thor takes Loki’s head in his hands and kisses the air from his lungs, and after, holds him there to stare into his eyes in search of some ill-will he won’t and doesn’t find. “We’re okay?”

“We’re okay, Daddy.”

They’re going to so very okay.

## <3

After sucking the cum out of Loki in the backseat, Thor pops a piece of cinnamon gum and informs him they’re going to an atelier.

Loki’s none too pleased with a detour that doesn’t get him home faster, but given that his flesh is sparkles and muscles are jello, what can he do but give Thor and that knowing smirk the evil-eye.

“Why?” he asks, following Thor into the building. “I wasn’t aware that I needed any bespoke clothing. One of the few privileges of being a skeleton draped in skin is that I can buy model sizes off-the-rack.”

Thor takes a borderline painful handful of Loki’s ass. “If you’re going to get on my ass for implying you’re too skinny — I wasn’t; I was saying you should eat after your flight, which you should’ve — I’m getting on yours. You’re lithe. It’s perfect.” After Thor’s gotten the begrudging concession he’s after, he starts walking again. “You need a suit. We have a company dinner every fiscal quarter. Black tie. Classy.” He winks. “You’ll like it. You get to see Father.”

As in Grandpa Odin. 

All apologies to the tailor for Loki being tensed as they do their best to both get precise measurements and remain alive with Thor observing, but Odin ranks among the last people on earth who Loki wants to see — ever. That man can’t resist reminding Loki how unwanted his addition to the family tree was because Loki hasn’t been aware of that from day one.

Thor will be on edge — Thor will be on edge. Hm. Obviously, Loki won’t be going the ‘all over Thor’ route, not that that was looking likely since he’s been doing that and Thor’s still adhering to his one hole policy. But no red flags would be put up for any bystanders if Loki smoothed his hands down Thor’s broad chest and said, “But Daddy, all that matters if you’re trying now.”

People are uncreative, especially old ones. That’ll be the narrative Odin goes with, “Look at you trying now, sonny boy. How cute,” because he’s a self-righteous bastard who does not see that he is wholly responsible for all the shit decisions Thor’s made, allowing Loki to jerk him off in the changing room not being one of them.

“Maybe you’ll get to rip me out of this at the end of the night, Daddy,” Loki says to Thor as Thor carries the garment back over his shoulder. And Thor’s done that, maybe he’ll feed Loki’s pussy some dick. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

You’d think Thor’s subconscious, the part of him that he’s sent to the dungeons of his mind for wanting to fuck Loki — again according to Thor’s understanding — knows this with how Thor’s excitement grows. Thor does have a killer intuition for important stuff (Thor was the one who told Loki he had a feeling Laufey wouldn’t be around much longer a few months before he and Mom divorced.) It could be Thor’s inner Party Animal happy to have some off-leash time since businesspeople love their college frat parties — a few of which Loki has been invited to, and declined, already for the petting zoo factor of watching a wiz kid do keg stands — dressed up in company sponsorship.

Thor’s conversation with Fandral about a champagne fountain as he sips his nth cup of coffee of the day lends credibility to that theory.

Peer pressure functions downwardly and laterally, and Thor’s above Fandral and his other friends and their cajoling for him to have a drink, just one drink, if they haven’t gone dry in solidarity for the alcohol-fueled woes he’s vaguely described to them, his closest confidants. Loki isn’t supposed to be drinking at all, so only so many suggestions of having a glass of wine to “loosen” up as he’ll be tense with Odin haunting around will land. For the margin — 21 shots of vodka was overkill — some liquid courage will have to keep finding its way into Thor’s glass. Loki’ll supervise.

Loki ties his hair up into a knot, undoes that knot and pulls half up into a ponytail like Thor loves to, pulls that ponytail out and scoops all his hair into a low one, slips the hair tie from that and shakes his hair free. He throws in some braids at the crown of his head. Not too formal, not too messy. Thor will like it.

Loki’s least favorite sound the doorbell congratulates him on getting his suit on without incident. It rings again after Thor would’ve gone down and got it, so Loki peeks into Thor’s room and calls his name, only to have Thor reply from the bathroom, “Naked!”

It’d just be great if it’s dear Grandfather.

Loki shouts that he’s coming to the impatient idiot that’s spamming the doorbell and opens the door with, “We heard you the first three times.”

Douchebag sunglasses, unrealistic facial hair, and a scent that borders on obnoxious, it’s so in your face. Google’s shown him this face. Tony Stark’s shorter than Loki imagined.

“Looks like I chose the right time to show up,” he says in an American accent marginally less silly than Steve Rogers’. “I didn’t know Thor got us a party favor.”

Loki steps out of Tony Stark’s way, the shock of that statement and all its implications no doubt showing on his face. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m Loki.”

Tony scoffs. “You’re Loki. Aren’t you about this tall?” he asks, holding up a hand to his knee. “And — I don’t know — like 10?”

“Five years ago, absolutely.”

“Jesus. Actually, that makes a lot of sense of what Rhodey told me about his trip here last month. Here I was thinking ‘wow, smart kid’ and ‘come on, Rogers, give me some credit. I do wait till high school.’ Really important detail to leave out, you being all tall and like something out of my mind’s private collection.” Tony’s led the way into the kitchen and now has disappeared into the pantry. Clanging confirms that Tony Stark’s located the alcohol or relocated rather. “So, what’re you? 15 you said? How long ago was that? I mean, Thor’s told me, but I can barely remember my own birthday, let alone my buddy’s long-lost kid’s.”

Based solely on what he knows of Tony, it’d be dramatically more easy to get him to fuck Loki than Thor. Like on a scale out ten, ten being Thor, Tony is zero point something. Thor, who is descending the stairs and knows Tony even more, will know that too.

“Technically 15,” Loki says, loud in case Tony can’t hear him in there, “but age is really just a number, so who knows?”

Thor’s arms are hidden in a shrug on of the red button-down. Thor is very concerned about what he’s heard.

“Oh, hi, Thor. I opened the door, and Tony Stark sort of let himself in.”

“Mhm,” Thor says, scanning Loki as if Tony Stark might’ve already ravished him.   

Tony resurfaces with a bottle in each hand held up. “Big guy, try to contain yourself. I know you’re pissing yourself to see me. But don’t worry. I heard your Bat Signal about a party—“

“Company party,” Thor says.

“—and came to save the day. What were you thinking? Having a… captivating young thing like this without someone to watch over him? You remember what dirty deeds we did to bright-eyed and bushy tailed creatures like him.”

“Like what?” Loki asks.

“Like — Loki’s nothing like that.”

“Said the fathers and mothers of those boys and girls,” Tony says.

“Daddy, he’s got a point,” Loki says.

“’Daddy.’ Ow.”

Thor approaches, but Tony Stark reminds Thor he’s there with all his noise finding a glass or two — three, Loki sees him hesitate before putting it back, what a good friend — so Thor settles for aggressively buttoning his shirt hovering over Loki. “Where’s your bowtie? I’ll tie it for you. Come on.”

“Not leaving him with me. Wise choice. Before you head upstairs to give the after-school special.” Tony holds out a glass with a few fingers of something clear in it. “You’re not about to let this be the occasion I out-drink you.”

Thor, holding Tony’s gaze, takes it and downs it in one gulp, not even flinching.

Loki adores Tony Stark.

That something clear Thor shot back is gin Thor’s breath tells him as Thor does his bowtie in Thor’s room. 

“Aren’t you going to warn me about why Tony Stark’s a bad man?” Loki asks.

Thor finishes and moves his hands out of the way for Loki to start his. “No.”

“No? You don’t think Tony Stark will slip off to the men’s room with me and—“

Thor’s mouth cuts him off. He grabs Loki’s ass, kneading it so hard that it tugs at Loki’s pussy lips.

Loki breaks it off and drops his hands from Thor’s finished bowtie to Thor’s forearms, squeezing them. “Daddy…”

“What, baby?” Thor murmurs into his ear.

“They’ll smell you all over me, and they’ll smell cum all over me.”

Thor gives one final squeeze of his ass. “Since when do you care about that?”

“Since Odin.”

That is nothing like a mood destroyer.

Tony’s wandered his way to Loki’s piano where he picks out some measures from Schumann’s _Humoreske_ and tells Thor as gets up, “I thought you were giving Howard a run for his money for Father of the Century, but looks like you’ve pulled it through last second.”

Thor’s smile does not reach his eyes.

Poor, Daddy. Loki will make him feel better.  

## <3

No, Loki does not look “so much like his father,” tee-hee, and no, Loki is not interested in “the nice young alpha” that they know.

The only alpha Loki gives two shits about is that father he resembles in the vaguest of ways like all bipedal creatures with two eyes and two hands resemble one another. Thor evidently being the boss that everyone slobbers the balls of rather than hates has been a close call since they’ve caught sight of him and the black tux feeling him up in the most wondrous ways.

Loki’s mission to not be one-on-one with Odin since “Oh, Loki, I see you’ve shown up” was the first thing out of his mouth also conflicts with the one to remind himself what Thor’s arms feel like through his suit jacket given Odin’s attachment to injecting himself in Thor’s conversations to ensure they know that all the credit of Thor’s success, personal, physical, occupational, is owed to him. Thor gestures to Loki during a conversation and on cue Odin hobbles over to remind them that Loki’s achievements Thor’s telling them about belong to him too. And as the obedient son Thor is, Thor swallows his ego and lets Odin undermine him each and every time.

The ever-present glass of something in Thor’s hand may have a lot to do with Thor’s compliance with that. It only took 150 pounds to hire a waiter for the job of making Thor an offer in a glass he couldn’t refuse with Odin around.

Loki borrows a bottle of Petrus Merlot from a semi-vacant table. A little extra confidence for himself wouldn’t hurt.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” says a voice that turns out to be Tony Stark. He’s lost the sunglasses which hang in the v of his unbuttoned shirt, tie loose around his neck. He merely nods toward the bottle when Loki gives him an innocent look.

Loki surrenders it, but Tony rather than hand it off uses it pour himself a glass before grabbing another untouched, empty one and filling that one too. Tony picks it up and holds it out toward Loki. Loki thanks him. “Aren’t you afraid of Thor pummeling you for getting his underage son drunk?”

“In the grand scheme — eh, yeah, it’s got the potential to be up there depending on how well you hold your drink. But I live by one simple philosophy: do bad things now. Seek forgiveness later.”

Loki takes a sip. “Why seek forgiveness at all?”

Tony’s eyebrows have found his hairline. He gulps down most of his glass.

Thor’s forgotten his for the moment, distracted by the infamous, girlfriend-in-waiting Sif and her latest chiffon attempt at wooing him. If she didn’t learn from Mother, she’ll learn from Loki.

“Come,” Loki tells Tony, pinching his sleeve, “dance with me.”

Tony’s small hands aren’t shy on Loki’s hip though one bails because Tony’s important reason to tell Loki, who’s slid his arms around Tony’s neck like he’s done Thor’s a dozen times, the angle his shoulders bend at lower, vaguely wrong, to wait is to put his sunglasses on. He redeems himself by not only returning his hand to Loki but migrating it into the lower back-bum gray area. Thor won’t like that.

The orchestra keeps the sway at a speed that doesn’t broadcast this as a thinly veiled attempt to “show” Tony how fluid his body can be. No, that’s a consequence of the dance, not the intention. Though will that make any difference for Thor?

Loki trails a knee up the outside of Tony’s leg, making the most mischievous faces along with it. “Dip me.”

“Though you’d never ask.”

He curls around Tony’s arms as they let his weight drop, keeping a hold of Tony’s shoulder because Tony is not Thor. He relaxes his neck, and he’s dangling partly upside down.

Those gold tasseled loafers walking this direction test his blood’s ability to drain out of his face with gravity working against it.

Odin couldn’t shelve this for Thor’s birthday? Christmas maybe?

Loki stands up and exits the dance floor. Look at that, his bottle of wine is still there. He rewards Tony’s compliance — and shuts up his rambling — by filling up the glass that Tony doesn’t seem to care if it’s his or not Tony holds out.

“Loki” is the worst sound that Loki has heard in his life thus far. Odin’s voice can’t help but let some of the disdain slip through its fingers. This enlightened patriarch act may fool everyone else, but the man that lays one of his wrinkly, gross hands on Loki’s shoulder hated Loki when Loki didn’t know what hate was.

Tony Stark seems somewhat aware given how long he subjects himself to the creepy stare you can’t see with Odin’s sunglasses but know in the pit of your soul, but Odin turns his back on Tony, effectively shutting him out, and Tony cants his glass toward Loki in a “good luck” and frees himself.

“About time your father’s stepped up to the plate,” Odin grouses. “I almost tend to think it’s too late with that wretched mother of yours’ touch having had time to settle all over you. But you have survival instinct, my survival instinct. I can see it in your eyes. You know who to listen to and who to ignore. The damage isn’t completely done.”

“Depends on your definition of damage.”

“Saying things like that would fall under it.” Odin’s hands assume the Merkel-raute. How intimidating and powerful this old man in a suit that looks like it’d rather be on anyone else is. “Tell me. How is Thor faring? Frigga says that you’ve said he cares for your most basic needs, but you’re at an age where you could do that yourself. What of his parenting?”

Thor’s engaged in a very intense conversation with Tony Stark that Tony Stark does not want to be in.

“He does his best. Thor’s worst is most’s best. His best is… His best is what I’ve needed.”

“You’d agree then that it’s a bit belated to be playing father now.”

“No.” Loki makes a face Odin won’t like. “No, I wouldn’t. I said that recently what I’ve needed is what Thor has given me. Only Thor would be able to give me it and only now after he’s grown in the ways he’s needed to.”

“You’re far too forgiving for someone his stupidity might’ve irreparably damaged.”

“Damaged is all I’ve known and Thor doesn’t seem to care, so it’ll have to do.” Loki escapes from Odin, glass of wine in hand, and now that Odin will be occupied with mulling over how Loki is somehow wrong and he is right, he heads for Thor.

“Speaking of,” Thor says, and his arm lifts to retake its rightful place on Loki’s shoulders — smoothly dispossessing Loki of his wine with the other. He introduces Loki to that American, Dr. Bruce Banner, a “genius” shared between Thor and the nowhere to be seen Tony working on the cutting edge of energy that Thor absolutely doesn’t care about only because it’s going to make him even more money, before excusing them both.

A loggia offers them a cool, quieter place to get away from all the bull. They stroll along it.

“Any idea of where Tony might’ve gone off to?” Loki asks, Thor’s arm drifting from his shoulders, hand swiping down across his back, burning skin behind it.

Thor takes back his hand as his brow etches the three lines into his forehead, strangely but clearly finding something about that funny. “I don’t know. Standing in as a scratching post for someone hopefully a little closer to his age.” His elbow jabs Loki’s arm when he gestures his hand in his pocket. “And someone genuinely interested in screwing him.”

“What makes you think I was trying to seem genuinely interested in screwing him? We were only dancing.”

“I’ve seen your ‘dancing.’ Mating call would be more accurate.”

“’Mating call’? To who? Not Tony because you claim I wasn’t even interested in him.”

They’re stopped by the end of the balcony. An echo of the orchestra’s cover of “Me and Mrs. Jones” catches up to them.

“Yes, Loki, I’ll dance with you.”

“I—“ He saves his breath for later and instead matches Thor’s hand in the air, hangs his other on Thor’s tricep. Ah, yes, as firm as ever. He does not yelp when he’s yanked forward by Thor’s hand on his ribs.

Thor’s eyes ignite his face. His bowtie, the blackest red, on the other hand isn’t deep-diving into Loki’s pupils for backstage access to his mind that Thor feels entitled to. Because him leading isn’t enough. It’s like he wants to make Loki make a fool out of himself to tip the scales in his favor. If Loki trips on his own feet, Thor being helpless to Loki cancels out.

Well, Loki will be sure to land each step, follow-through each slide, and connect each touch.

“I see Father finally cornered you. Did he get you with the ‘good to see you finally have the father you deserve,’ or — let me guess — ‘I’m happy that fool who knocked your mom up isn’t around anymore’?” Sarcastic amusement, like everything, looks good on Thor, but the aftertaste annoys Loki’s stomach.

“I didn’t let him. I didn’t care to hear anything he had to say, especially anything about you. It wouldn’t have been anything I’ve never heard from Mother.” He spins around the pivot of Thor’s hand. “He asked me some leading questions. I told him that none of that mattered because you give me everything I need.”

Thor looks at him strangely, like he can’t believe that. He catches Loki when Loki drops himself down, reels Loki back up and in instinctively. “You didn’t have to say that.”

“You would’ve preferred it if I lied then?”

“No, I—“ Thor’s lips close down on the rest of that sentence. He looks out over Loki’s head to let the moonlight turn his eyes, what little of them his pupils haven’t eaten, that slate gray, amused. “I said that to you. That night. I’d been hoping you hadn’t heard that.”

“You should know by now that I keep a running transcript of everything you say to me. How else am I supposed to use your words against you to get you to do what I want?”

“Hm.”

Loki’s dip of his nose into Thor’s collar isn’t the burst of needles to the nose that comes along with alcohol like the amount Thor drank the mysterious first time. Thor is mostly sober then. Well, the alcohol was never going to be the spark. Loki knew that deep down. It didn’t need to be.

“You were right,” he tells Thor, thumbing at the webbing between Thor’s thumb and index finger. “I thought it was your arrogant version of dirty talk, but why wouldn’t you give me what I need? You’re my alpha.” He pulls himself away from Thor’s shoulder, panicky, like would be expected if he’d said more than he’d meant to. “An alpha I mean.”

Thor’s slowed them down to a stop to focus on staring into Loki. “I’m your alpha.”

“I didn’t mean to say that.”

“No,” Thor says. “No. Don’t be.” He takes Loki’s upper arms and cracks a smile. “It’s the truth. It shouldn’t be that way, but it is.” Acceptance is the look on Thor’s face. “My whole life I’ve been searching, searching for this… thing. I don’t know. I never consciously thought of it like that. But that’s what I’ve been doing, was. Then when you came here, I didn’t need to anymore.”

Loki… knows what he means, doesn’t he? What does it matter if he does? The goal is sex. Loki tells Thor, “I know what you mean,” regardless of the legitimacy because pragmatically that is the next step toward that sex.

“Why do you think I didn’t tell you what happened that night? I thought you were showing me how you felt the same way, and you didn’t even remember it.”

The kiss is brief but hard and breath-taking. They always are.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Daddy.”

“I don’t care. All those people in there, the world can kiss my ass. I, I love you. I love you. I love you.” Thor punctuates these with kisses over Loki’s face. He forces Loki to look up at him. “I love you so much. Fuck.”

By the hand, Thor whisks him inside to relay his goodnights and his goodbye to Grandfather, standing by as Loki says that he’s not feeling too well, then it’s Loki’s turn to tow Thor along, telling him to hurry and that he can’t wait. He can’t — neither of them. Thor scoops him into his lap in the backseat and claims every square millimeter of Loki’s mouth as Loki does the same to him and starts on the buttons of Thor’s shirt to let his chest breathe. Loki bites a nipple. Thor’s cock jumps.          

Thor’s shoulder provides exquisite pressure on Loki’s cock, and Thor’s molten steel ass provides a good source of entertainment while Loki dangles down Thor’s back upside down. His smack on Thor’s ass earns a smarting smack on his that resonates into Loki’s pussy. Loki smacks Thor’s ass again. Thor smacks his. It hurts so good.

When Thor drops him, Loki’s caught by the bed, refusing to sit there and let Thor have all the fun taking those clothes off. He swats Thor’s hands away, informs Thor that he has this all taken care of and that Thor should relax and enjoy the show of him acquainting his lips with every muscle straining under Thor’s skin. Lying on the edge, he scrapes his teeth through that valley of muscle between Thor’s Adonis belt and thigh and lightly takes some flesh on the inside of Thor’s thigh between them, Thor’s face utterly wicked looking down at him. He angles himself just to miss the faintest brush against Thor’s cock as he softly sucks each ball, musky and vulnerable  like nothing else on Thor and pulsing as if preparing that enormous load of cum Thor’s going to fill Loki with and promises is just for him.

“Just for you,” Thor tells Loki in this gravely tone, his cock heavy — he has to be so strong carrying this around all day — as Loki wags it around the base.  

“Just for me, Daddy?” On his knees, he trails through Thor’s pubic hair and up his abs and uses his pecs as handholds, telling Thor, “Ooh, Daddy, it’s going to feel so good, your big fucking cock inside me. Isn’t that where it belongs, Daddy? Inside of me?”

Thor’s murmuring these distant “yeah”s, sucking kisses onto Loki’s lips, around them, down his jaw and neck, that tingle. Loki’s chest is exposed to the cool air in a snap of buttons though Thor’s chest warms him right up as do Thor’s hands, chasing away the air on the outside of Loki’s thighs as he pushes down Loki’s pants. Loki lies back for Thor, for him to yank them off and get him completely naked. Thor covers him entirely, and god, it should be fucking terrifying to be so overwhelmed by someone’s body, but it’s not someone, it’s Thor, and it urges him to connect their lips in some sort of reassurance, not from Thor to him, but from him to Thor that there is no other place in the world he’d rather be than here.

Here, Thor’s soft lips trailing their spit down Loki’s chest. Here, Thor wearing Loki’s knees on his huge shoulders and breathing more heat onto his pussy. Thor’s mouth fucking slurps his pussy, loudly. He’s always so loud licking and sucking and fucking his tongue into Loki like it’s the best taste in the world. Loki’s doubted that when Thor’s told him so, but Thor burying his face in Loki’s pussy and shaking it back and forth, gnashing his nose against that spot at the bottom of Loki’s cock, has Loki believing, believing and begging for more of that stretch Thor’s fingers give as they swirl these large circles inside of him and Thor’s velvet tongue slides up and down and around Loki’s cock.

That tension between his hips explodes in waves of heat.   

When someone — because it can’t be Loki, no — stops screaming, Thor’s chuckling and ticking the insides of Loki’s thighs with his stubble. He gathers Loki’s knees together, Loki’s hard-very-much-on trickling some more cum onto Loki’s stomach with the motion. Something soft grazes the back of his thigh, familiar from the mornings where Thor fucks between them and jerks Loki in time. No, no, no, Loki has a far better idea than that.

His limbs jitter. He splits his thighs to Thor’s visible frustration-confusion. It’s adorable, how Thor gives Loki’s pussy and cock a rueful look before coming up to kiss whatever the problem is away. Loki pushes Thor at the shoulder and his lips leading the way, guides Thor onto his back. He sits up for both the rush of power being on top of Thor and the understanding that widens Thor’s slack eyes. Miniature versions of himself, hair a messy shape around his bony body, reflect in Thor’s pupils. He doesn’t understand why him over someone, anyone else, but Loki’ll take it.

Thor wraps his hands around Loki’s hips but does nothing else.

Thor’s cock has never felt so much like a stretch for Loki’s to wrap his hand around. Loki kneels on one knee to lift himself up enough. Merely exhaling brings him down to it, and god, it’s big. It’s so big, and Loki needs it inside of him. He lowers his hips, lips opening for Thor’s cock. He presses himself down. When nothing happens, he presses himself down harder, but his pussy refuses.

It… won’t fit. It won’t fit. It won’t _fit_.

“Baby, take your time.” Thor’s thumbs rub Loki’s hipbones. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Evidently since — no. No, Loki’s waited too fucking long for his pussy to suddenly decide to run out of space. He wills all and any muscle tone from his body.

A burning stretch slides deep inside of him.

Thor’s thighs are touching his ass.

Loki looks down, but the only cock to be seen is his standing up fully hard. When he breathes, Thor’s cock — which is inside of him, oh god — shifts against his heart because that’s surely where it is with how vividly it fills him. There is no more Loki in him. There is only Thor.

Thor’s head is tossed back, ropes of muscle straining in his neck.

Loki’s hips have gone numb.

When he dares to move up, the burn rockets to the insides of his kneecaps. Down is the same but followed by this feeling that shows promise if Loki just — oh. _Oh_. Grinding a bit on it is good, very good. His pussy likes it so much it resists letting Thor’s cock go. But his hips are lifting, not by his own power but by Thor’s. Thor’s making these soft grunts that shadow Loki’s gasps, face shining with sweat. What sexy agony he’s in. And because of Loki.

Loki balances himself on Thor’s slippery stone abs and telling him how good his cock feels, how much he loves it and needs it, he uses Thor’s help to ease himself down as far as he can and up as far as his shaking elbows can take.

Thor comes to him, gathering him close by crossing his legs, and Loki crosses his around Thor, the split-second of pain breath-taking. Thor kisses his open mouth, kisses it when he’s closed it to hold in another mortifying noise from Thor thrusting up.

Wrapping his arms around Thor’s neck, Loki buries his face in it. Thor’s pulse is like a metronome for each meeting of their bodies, for the wet, slapping sounds of their skin, of Thor’s big balls against Loki’s ass. This is his. Thor, his cock, all of this, it’s Loki’s. He wants it to be his. He needs it to be his.

“Loki, Loki, Loki,” Thor’s saying. He pulls Loki away from him. He’s still close though but Loki just… they could be so much closer. He whispers it against Loki’s cheek, “I want to do it. I want to do it so bad. Tell me—”

Thor’s his. Thor and his cock and his neck and his shoulder and his sounds, oh, his “Loki,” that’s all his.

He’s cumming. God, he’s cumming, or at least trying to around Thor’s cock, and Thor’s holding it deep and throbbing, cumming. Thor’s cumming too, and that sharp feeling in Loki’s neck, that hurts a bit, but a sharp, stinging radiates from around his pussy that must be Thor knotting — Thor’s knotting him — which yes, Loki accidentally moving and being tugged at the pussy confirms. He’s being knotted by Thor. His cock gives more cum against Thor’s abs. His pussy has no room to do more than flinch a bit.

He lays back, Thor helpfully uncrossing his legs. There’s a metallic taste on his teeth.    His neck stings but so does everywhere else. He’s drifting off. He can feel it. “That was nice, Thor,” he says.

Thor kisses him somewhere below the waist, a thigh maybe. Loki’s sense of kinesthesis is on hiatus, so Loki doesn’t know the difference. Thor says something. Maybe. Loki can’t be too sure. But he imagines it’s “I love you.”

He hopes that he murmurs the same.


End file.
